


Republic City Blues

by Beech27



Series: Republic City Blues [1]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-07 08:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 57
Words: 160,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3168725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beech27/pseuds/Beech27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Water Tribe's most daring young detective sets her blue eyes on Republic City, where she's tasked with doing the impossible - infiltrating the infamous Sato syndicate, and living to talk about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU: Republic City, fashioned after prohibition America. Not even a little canon.
> 
> "Teen" rating selected for violence, and lots of fucking language.

Everything about the boat creaks as we dock. It’s enough to make a Water Tribe girl afraid of getting wet. Of course, water is one thing, several tons of wood, metal, and panicking human adds to the problem. I can get wet pretty well. I’m not so used to getting dead though, and I’d rather not practice.

Of course, the water here at Republic City is nothing quite like the water where I come from. It isn't like we can see a kilometer down, like some tropical beach on a postcard. It isn’t like that, but there is a clarity to our water, a certain kind of clean you can just sense, if you’re awake to those sorts of things. And I am.

The water here isn’t water exactly, because it isn’t water entirely. You see the factories on the shorelines, disappearing into the horizon in either direction, and you get why. You see the pipes spewing I can’t guess what from those factories, and everything becomes clear. Funny way to put it. Wrong, too. It actually becomes the opposite of clear. As clear as the blackest night. As clear as water filled with all kinds of shit can be, I guess.

This is home now, and I guess I’d rather float in on a boat than float in on whatever that sludge is. Looking at it, you do get the idea that a body could sit right up on top, just rot for an audience. I guess that’s where the concrete blocks come in, though. The syndicates have a pretty good handle on these things. I may not have practice getting dead, but I’m told they have a lot of practice getting people that way.

Which is well enough, I suppose. Without that, I wouldn’t be here. Without that, I wouldn’t have this job. I’d still be sitting at home, twiddling my thumbs at a desk, or walking some podunk streets in some podunk town. Don’t get me wrong. I'm a Water Tribe girl, through and through. But water has to answer to the currents. Sometimes those can pull you way out, deeper than you ever thought to go. I’m ready to go deep.

The job offer just made it easy. No real way to guess how it came my way, other than a vague mention of recommendation from some nameless soul. Good enough, though. I’d thank them if I could, so I guess it’s well enough that I can’t. Saves me buying one of those stupid postcards with the tropical beaches on the front.

Maybe they’ve got postcards here that show Republic City’s beaches? Covered in filth, shit, garbage. Truth in advertising, but nobody ever spent money on the truth. So I suppose not. Just some pretty pictures of big buildings, like the Future Industries tower.

And isn’t that something? About the highest damn thing I’ve ever seen that isn’t a mountain, and looking up now, I’m not so sure it isn’t one. Like old Hiroshi didn’t just carve this out of a hunk of metal, climbing forever into the sky. Hearing something isn’t the same as it being true, but if it’s close, then old Hiroshi’s carving a lot more than that. Carving this city up, and looking out beyond that too.

Of course, he can’t carve what you don’t give him, and the good folks of the United Republic have given him a damn fine rock to work with. Prohibition’s been for him what marble was the greatest sculptors of the classic age. Can’t remember their names, but I’m sure they did something nice. Hiroshi Sato I know, because everyone knows Hiroshi Sato.

Founder and CEO of Future Industries, which is a lot of title, and a lot of promise. Give your company a name like that, and you damn well better deliver. Hiroshi’s a proper mailman then, because all he’s done is deliver. The biggest name in manufacturing just about anything, but specializing in transportation. The Satomobile - and isn’t that a humble name - carves up earth from here to everywhere, while his airships float on over everything.

Give a man all that, and you might think he’d get full up. Rest on his ass, let his belly get big, and his brain get slow. Give Hiroshi Sato all that, and he just wants more. More beyond what any reasonable person should want. Of course reason and profit never did go together too well, so maybe Hiroshi’s got that one right.

You’re already selling all the cars and airships in the world, and you’ve already got warehouses and distribution centers near every town big enough to have two grocery stores and a stoplight. Might say a man like that could move anything he wanted anywhere he wanted. Might say that moving booze that way could make a mighty profit. Might say that, but you have to be careful what you say about Hiroshi on the docks. In Republic City. Otherwise you might get a chance to taste that famous Republic City dock water, get a real deep drink.

Everybody who knows anything knows that. Even Water Tribe girls, fresh off the boat, who don’t know a damn thing besides, know that. Sounds like someone I know. Smart girl, remembering that.

Of course, that isn’t quite all I know. I know the boat’s crowded, that I feel like a fish in a tin, being shipped halfway across the world, only to be gobbled up. It isn’t like that’s too far off from accurate, maybe. I know that none of the guys jammed up around me have bathed in a spell, and that one keeps letting his hand wander when the boat rocks.

“Sorry ma’am,” he says every time.

So far, I haven’t given him much thought. Too busy looking at the docks. Looking at the skyline. A big sky, big buildings. Big everything. Enough to make a little Water Tribe girl feel alone. Enough to make her forget another thing she knew - that people pick pockets on these boats.

It takes me half a minute to remember that, and then I’m walking down the ramp, feeling the flimsy wood wobble beneath. Can’t help but wonder how these things never break. Can’t help but think maybe they have, and just nobody cares too much about the kinds of people that get off these boats. A couple more in the water is just another day in Republic City. A real slow day.

Of course this bastard isn’t slow. That’d be too easy. And this is a crowded dock, mind you. So those thirty steps he’s got on me are worth a hundred on an empty street. The sorts of streets I used to walk back home. There, nobody was pinching my wallet. There, people knew that no amount of empty street would be enough to protect them.

You can’t fault a guy for not knowing. Water Tribe himself, by the looks of it. Probably comes from some desperate backwater, coming here looking for work. Thinking he’ll get a gig, working overnights at some factory, just enough to find broth to dip his bread in, and beer - illegal isn’t unavailable - to wash it all down. That’s not such a bad goal, really. Not such a bad goal, considering how hard it is to achieve down South. Frozen everything, and so the only thing that moves are the people who are set to leaving.

Now he’s figuring on getting a head start. Get some coin, and maybe get something a little nicer than broth. Something that’ll stick to his ribs, really warm his bones. He’s got a head start on me, right enough. Of course, it’s not near big enough.

I set to running, twisting, finding my footsteps in the crowd. It’s not the easiest thing, but it’s not the hardest thing either. You can run through knee deep snow, keep your balance on frozen lakes, you can handle a stray ankle or two. Or two hundred. Doesn’t really matter, once you get going. Once the rhythm fills you, and everyone in that crowd is just dancing, dancing, moving to the swing of your music.

They all make good partners, and it’s as good as if they’d just tackled him for me. I don’t tackle him though. That’s the sort of violence that draws a crowd, and being that I’m brought here to be a cop, drawing a crown for beating on some poor guy doesn’t seem the best first impression. Instead, I simply swipe the wallet back. He’d slid it in his back pocket, which isn’t really a good plan, but he doesn’t seem too practiced.

I dance back through the crowd, hoping the factories treat the guy better. Hard times make for hard men, but they also make for soft men trying to be hard. That last category is a sad thing, and he damn sure belongs in it.

On the other hand, the three men surrounding me are prime examples of hard men looking for a hard time. The ugliest one steps in front, his whole head a mess of stubble and scars, looking like the world’s best punch taker, and the worst dodger. Wearing denim overalls pulled over a shirt that looks like worn burlap, he's the picture of a dock tough. The kind of person they tell pretty girls about so that pretty girls stay out of situations like this.

Of course I’ve never been much good at staying out of situations.

He’s chewing one massive dip, rolling it around, then spitting near my feet. I pull back my boot in time to dodge a stain. Bastard got lucky.

He assesses me and he’s thinking some pretty awful things I can tell, or at least I can imagine, appraising me up and down. The blue Water Tribe top is tight enough, doesn’t make things too hard to guess at. I can feel the other two doing the same, but I can’t put eyes on all three. You can’t fight three men real well, but you can fight one man easy enough. The trick is to fight one man three times, rather than three men once. Still not the best odds, but then fighting’s not dice, so I’m not counting on luck.


	2. Chapter 2

You can tell by looking at Stubble and Scars here that he’s not one to protect his face. Not one to mind the damage either, or at least not enough to prevent it. Reasonable to assume then that whatever he’s planning, blocking my attack isn’t on the list. Not even on the back side, where you put the groceries you forgot to write down the first time.

So his hands are going to be down, and they’re coming for me. Any second now. Big guy, so he’s likely to telegraph movements. Likely to lean in too, use that size to his advantage. If I have space, I can move. If I have space, I might even be able to run. Of course, crowded as these docks are, there isn’t much chance I’m running away before he could get ahold of me.

That same crowd could be a blessing, if they bothered. People don’t tend to bother though, so can’t hope for that. You put your hope in a crowd of people, thinking a hero’s popping out of the bunch? You’re setting yourself up for a fall. Don’t plan on falling myself, so I’m keeping my eyes ahead. Nobody around me, so far as I’m concerned.

Of course, what I concern myself with is one thing, reality is another. There are the two other toughs beside me, but I’ll consider them when I have a second. Right now, I don’t have any time at all. Or leastways, I can’t count on it. Scarface could move at any moment, and if I’m not ready to react, well, it could go poorly for me.

It’s his mouth that moves first though. An ugly thing, full of rotten teeth, spitting out words with flecks of his tobacco.

“Pretty thing, ain’t you? Awfully pretty to be pulling stuff like what we just saw you did. Got some hands on you.”

Of course I know damn well what he’s talking about, but he doesn’t know that I know. Or leastways, he doesn’t need to know. He thinks I’m pretty, maybe he also thinks I’m prissy. Maybe he also thinks I’m dumb. Well enough for me if he does, as I’m not too concerned with his taste in women. Now that I’m thinking maybe he doesn’t have a taste for me, that is.

I just smile and giggle like some fresh off the boat rube. We Water Tribe girls are just so flustered by this big city, after all. Can’t be expected to talk to a big strong man.

He rolls his eyes, strains his face so that one corner of his lip comes up, showing more yellow gums and black cheeks.

“Red Raven. You heard of it? If you ain’t, you will soon. You got some hands, and I seen what you did. Sato's always looking for people like that. Figuring you’s getting off the boat just now, figuring you’s still need work.”

My tongue gets out in front of my brain sometimes, and it was near enough to doing it as he spoke. All set to tell these guys about the job I've got waiting already. Probably not the best idea to call out that you’re a cop in front of guys like this though. Not in front of Sato men.

Before I can manage an answer myself, there’s a voice behind me.

“There you are! We’ve been looking for you. Our new shipping manager, fresh from her wildly successful Water Tribe plant! Very, very excited to have you aboard. Truly a momentous occasion for Republic Textiles!”

Before I can answer his hands are on my shoulders, and he’s shaking me like we’re long lost friends. I feel like my brain is about to come out my ears. Strong guy, apparently. Broad shoulders, sturdy looking in general. And so damn perky.

There’s another guy behind him, looks about similar enough to be his brother. But stretched out a little bit. Taller, thinner. While the handsy guy is sturdy and energetic, this guy is all sinew and anxiety. He’s making eyes at the three toughs still surrounding me. It looks like he’s ready to make fists too.

“We’re from Republic Textiles. Korra? That’s right, isn’t it? We’re here to show you to your quarters. Get you welcomed to Republic City.”

I turn back to the three toughs, and the one in the middle just says “Crimson sunset.” He and his pals walk away, trying real hard to walk the sort of walk that says you want to be walking, not that you just go chased off. It's good enough to fool anyone around who might be paying attention. Of course, no one’s paying attention. That's the thing about cities, you know? Always in a crowd, but always alone.

Of course I’m not alone. Not with hands on my shoulders, still squeezing me a little too tight. I pull away and he exclaims “Sorry!”

“If my lingering touch offended you in any way, you have my deepest condolences. And know that, should your offense remain, I will do everything in my power to earn your forgiveness. My name is Bolin, and I am entirely at your service.”

He bows.

I raise an eyebrow at the sinewy one behind him. “What the fuck is he saying?” asks my eyebrow.

He raises his. It says “Fuck if I know.” Then he shrugs, and speaks. “Mako. Older brother and interpreter for Bolin here. I’ve been around him enough to understand... sometimes.”

“Excuse me!” cuts in Bolin. “I am sure that a beautiful, cultured young woman such as this has no trouble grasping the more verbose aspects of my extemporaneous speech.” He glances at me, looking for confirmation.

“I get the words fine enough,” I say. “I don’t get why you’re so wasteful with them though.”

His mouth opens and I put my hands up for defense, like his words are punches. But then hands never did stop punches too well. Better to punch first. Best to punch only. Still, my hands get him to stop talking, which is an entirely correct reading of the situation. I exhale, peer out from behind my hands. It’s safe. For now.

“Don’t think I’m not grateful for that. Whatever it was. I am. But don’t think I couldn’t’ve handled it myself. Because I was set to. I’m not here to push fabric.”

“We know why you’re here, Korra,” says Mako, now moving towards me. All angles, this one. And taught as a bowstring. “But why you’re here isn’t something we talk about in places like this. So follow us. Unless you have a better idea.”

“I was figuring on heading down to the statio-”

Now it’s Bolin’s turn to hush me, only he’s doing it with a hand over my mouth. The thing about mouths is that they have teeth, though. And the thing about me is that I don’t give a damn what’s right or ladylike in a fight. Another thing is that I tend to think things are fights a little too often. So my teeth close on his hand, which he pulls back, screaming. I grab his extended hand, twist so the palm's facing him, bend the fingers towards me, then push down until he’s on his knees.

“Now Bo - Can I call you Bo?” He whimpers and nods. “You seem like a nice guy, and I’d hate to get off on the wrong foot. I’m going to come with you and your brother here. But you grab me again and I’ll break your arm to pieces, understand?”

He nods that he does, so I let go, and let him up. I feel a little bad about that, a second later. More than a little, as more seconds pass. I lost my temper, and poor Bo her could’ve lost a hand. it's not a matter of what's right or ladylike in a fight, though, considering it wasn’t a fight at all. Just assault of a nice guy. I think about snow, about ice, about home. Try to cool off.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

“Hey, it’s-” Mako’s put his hand on my shoulder as he says this. I twitch and he jumps back. “Sorry. Hey, it’s ok. This can be a dangerous place, and-”

“Anywhere I’m at’s a dangerous place.”

He holds his hands in the air. “Hey, Korra. We’re your friends here. Or at least we’re on the same side. Maybe friends later, maybe not. But you can turn off the badass act for half a second. Just act like a normal human, ok? I get that this is scary for you. But stop.”

Thirty minutes in to my new life, and I’ve been pickpocketed, nearly… whatever those three were planning… and then inviting me… somewhere? And now this. Two nice guys show up to help me out, and I’m ready to snap their arms off. Shit. Be ice, already.

“Ok. Sorry. Again. Help me get acquainted then. Like friends do. Have you heard of a place called the Red Raven?”

“Of course,” says Mako. His eyes get a little thinner though, like he’s trying to see what my brain wants this answer for.

“Well, those three… guys? … were suggesting I should check it out, before you started shouting about textiles.”

I look at Bolin. He’s rubbing his wrist, but still manages to blush a little. He still manages to talk too. No surprise there.

“There are many… establishments… in Republic City, that offer a very particular variety of fermented beverage, if one knows where to look. And if one knows what to say. Many offer a good time, and a bad drink. Many others offer a good drink, and a bad time. The Red Raven is the latter. It’s a Sato place. The Sato place, in a sense, as it’s named after… well… her.”

I roll my eyes. “Is she a ghost, Bo?”

“She is quite real. A being of flesh and blood, though her beauty extends beyond the mere addition of these mortal ingredients. So, nay. Not a ghost. But perhaps a divine spirit of some kind? Perhaps-”

“Asami Sato,” says Mako. “Hiroshi’s daughter. His lieutenant. His driver. His mechanic. His inventor. You know the Sato Submachine gun? Call it the Sato Special, around here. Her design. Or at least her tweaking. Fifteen-hundred rounds per minute.” He whistles.

“So why the nick-”

Of course, Bolin can’t go that long without speaking up himself.

“The nickname, Korra, is the result of a legend.” He waves his hands towards the horizon, gazes into the sky. “A raven has long been thought a harbinger of doom, of imminent death. And for Hiroshi’s enemies, she is that. She is all those things Mako said, but a creeping terror as well. They say her jet black hair is simply the vestige of her plumage, and that in the dark of night, she changes, flying from window to window, from roof to roof, bringing death with her.”

I pause. “Is that-”

Bolin opens his mouth to continue, but Mako jumps in. “She kills important people in rival syndicates. They say she does it really well. Like she can disappear into the sky. And she has black hair. She wears red a lot. And blood is red. So, Red Raven. Cute name for the papers. Hiroshi thought so, so he named a speakeasy after her. And it’s her place, more or less. She’s there most nights. You got invited?”

“I did.”

Mako is rubbing his palms against his face, tugging his skin across his cheekbones like he’s wringing out a towel.

“Fuck. I mean, that’s… just, fuck. Wow. You going?”

I shrug. “Suppose so. Maybe as soon as tomorrow. Need to check out the apartment that the ‘textile company’ set up for me. That is where you fine gents from the ‘textile company’ were taking me, right? Then I need to go see the Chief of the ‘textile company’. Don’t really know what my job description is yet. And then-” I pause. “Nice place?”

“Very,” they say in unison.

“Then I hope the clothes I shipped ahead arrived already. Hate to waltz in looking like this.”

Bolin places his hand over his heart, bows his head.

“I, for one, think that even such humble garments cannot hide your-”

Mako places his hand over Bolin’s mouth now. Doesn’t look like he bites.

“What he’s trying to say is, follow us. We’ve been expecting you. And everything is ready.”


	3. Chapter 3

On the drive to… wherever the brothers are taking me, I’m reflective. Not so much looking at the traffic, or the skyline, or anything about my new home, as looking inward. What was that? Chase down a pickpocketer, deal with him kindly. Face down three thugs, wait it out, and for whatever reason, avoid a fight. Then, two guys try to be nice, I lash out at both, and physically assault one.

I’ve got my head in my hands in the back seat. Thought I was ready for this. Thought I wanted this. Thought I’d do anything for some excitement, and now, the hustle of the docks is enough excitement to turn me into a cornered dog, snapping at anybody that comes close.

I try to apologize again three or four times - depending on if you count the time Bolin just told me to stop the second my mouth opened - but still feel pretty shitty about it.

“Hey, Bo.”

“Yes?”

“Do you actually talk like that all the time?”

“Like what? Like a poet, brought forth from the mists of yon-”

“No, he doesn’t,” cuts in Mako, not taking his eyes off the road. “Just when he’s talking to girls he thinks are cute.”

Bolin punches him in the arm, and we swerve a little. “Bro! What the fuck, man?” Realization, and then-

I put my hand up. “You seem like a nice guy. And I mean that. Not bullshitting. But I’m not looking.”

“Oh… sorry. Didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

“I don’t.”

“Oh… You, oh? Oh!”

Mako screeches the car to a halt, before I can disabuse Bo of the conclusion he's reached. We’re here. Here, being the parking lot of a pool hall. Sharks, it’s called.

“Guys, I’m not sure we have time for a game. And anyway, I’ve never played.”

Mako shrugs. “I’m ok, if you want to learn. Anyway, this is going to take a second, so no interruptions. This is-”

“Am I really that bad?”

Both brothers just look some combination of irritated and defeated, and I realize that apparently yes, I am.

“Sorry. I’m done.”

“Thanks,” mumbles Bolin. I’m thankful for the muttering though. Better than than the earlier… theatrics.

Mako just sighs. “Ok, this is our pool hall.” He points to Bolin, then himself. Not too many other options, but at least he’s clear. “We’ll show you the rest - and explain it to you - once we’re inside."

Inside is nice enough, as pool halls go. Of course, I’ve never been in a pool hall before, so maybe I’m not the best judge. But it has tables, and… the sticks. And that seems just about good enough to me.

“We’ve owned this place since we were twenty, so that’s five years now. Downstairs, you’ll find the real... business.”

And downstairs we go. A thin, dark strip, until we get to a door that has a little visor. They don’t knock though, as both have keys. I can tell, because they both reach for their set at the same time, then nudge at each other, until Bolin, who was closer anyway, unlocks the door. I follow them in.

This, I know, is a bar. A speakeasy. Whatever we’re calling them these days. Not the prettiest, but then the bar looks stocked, so nobody’s likely to mind that the tables aren’t polished, and the green carpet is fraying where it touches the walls. Seems an odd place for guys I presume are cops. Seems an ever more odd place for alleged textile workers.

“So, that thing about Republic Textiles was-”

“Bullshit,” they both say.

Mako, defers, letting Bolin speak. “That was… what I came up with, in the moment. It looked like maybe you needed help.” He rubs his wrist. “Now I know better. But even still, can’t go shouting at our new undercover police officer that she's an undercover police officer. Which, by the way, is what you are. Or will be, here in a minute.”

“So you guys are-”

“Think of us as the… shepherds, of Republic City’s undercover force,” says Bolin.

“And you say I’m bad about interruptions.”

“Sorry.”

Mako’s turn, I guess. “Short version: We were orphans, way back. Started earning money as police informants. Chief Beifong - who you’ll meet here soon - saw that we were taken care of, and we saw that she had ears on the streets. Always. Five years ago, she and the department bought this place for us. With it, we see more. Hear more. And it serves a very unique purpose. For informants. And undercover cops. That you’ll see soon.”

I’m lost, so I just nod.

“Now,” says Bolin, unable to resist a sweeping arm gesture, “we show you to your quarters. And… we show you that other thing too.”

They lock the door behind us and I follow them up the stairs, across the pool hall, through another locked door, down another flight of stairs, and through one final locked door. I hope they have extra keys.

Behind the final door is something that could almost pass for a regular Republic City apartment. Of course, I’ve seen about as many of those as I have pool halls. Still it’s… fine. Spare. Thin beige carpet in the front room, with a couch. A small kitchen to the left, then a branching hallway straight ahead. It’s the hallway they head for, so I follow.

“Bathroom,” Bolin points to the left. I guess we get to share. “My room.” Right. “Mako’s room.” Left. “And finally, your room.” On the right.

I glance through the door, then wonder why I’m so meek about checking out my own room. So I head right in. The carpet is the same, with white walls, a small bed with white sheets, a closet on the left, and a dresser on the right. Opening both, it does look like all my clothes arrived, and are stocked. I wonder which of them got that job, then think there’s a few things I’d rather neither one see.

I take it all in. Or I try. I’m living in a basement under a pool hall. Apparently. With two brothers who are undercover police officers, which is apparently what I am. That’s a lot to take in.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” says Mako, who is apparently a mind reader. Good skill for an undercover cop. “But we have that… big thing… that Bolin mentioned. Then you can meet the Chief. Then you can settle in.”

That’s a couple more ‘thens’ than I’d like at the moment, but I don’t see as I’ve got much of a choice.

“Show me the thing, boys.”

And it is a pretty damn big thing. Mako approaches my closet, and I’m wondering what article of clothing he thinks is that big of a deal, but then he moves the clothes out of his way entirely, and waves for us to follow. There’s a door. With another lock. And another key. Of course there’s another key.

Mako opens turns the key, opens the door, and reveals a very poorly lit brick archway, big enough for a truck, but it looks like it once had train tracks on the ground. It runs perpendicular to our hallway, is sealed on the right, and goes who knows where on the left. I think this probably gets drafty in the winter. Then, that it probably opens from the other side too, and that worries me.

Mako the mind reader detects this. “Sorry, but there’s just this one door. We’ll ask before we use it, unless it’s really an emergency. And only one other person has a key. And she never visits. She’s also the only other person who knows about this. In the world. So it’s safe. Or as safe as this job gets.”

“About that…”

Bolin puts his hand on my shoulder, and I don’t flinch, not really. He got over the bite quick, and I’m actually glad.

“This is a remnant of Republic City’s old freight tunnels. They were basically all filled in, or at least totally sealed off, when subway construction began ten years ago. But Chief Beifong pulled some strings, and the one running under her house was allowed to stay intact. At least as far as this building, which, as you can guess, is why we own this building."

I nod, but I'm not really in the guessing mood.

“Good. Her office - well, her ‘downstairs’ office - is at the other end. And by ‘downstairs office’, I mean her basement. She’ll tell you what your job is. Which, I should tell you, is the whole point of this. We’re only a block away from her house. So you - or any undercover officer - can speak with her anytime - but please do schedule unless it’s very important - without ever setting foot near the station. Which would of course be a very bad idea, so don’t do it.”

I pinch my eyes, and my head hurts. Maybe it’s being underground, but I think I’m feeling the pressure of all… this… instead. A secret freight tunnel - which is what, exactly? - under a bogus pool hall operated by undercover cops - which, apparently, is what I'm brought here to be - that, of course, connects to the Chief of Police’s basement.

I sigh. “Fuck it, let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to be honest. Yes, Sharks is a pool term, but it's mostly a dig at Mako's eyebrows, in this case.


	4. Chapter 4

The tunnel is a damp, dank, dirty thing. Walking along, you can’t help but feel this is some sort of ancient ditch, just recently discovered. The fact that it's just recently decommissioned is stunning, because really, it’s a dump already. And it’s connected to my closet. That still hasn’t sunk in. Don’t know if it will, and don’t know if I want it to. The type of brain that could accept that as normal isn’t really the type I want. 

Mako and Bolin seem comfortable enough though, traipsing right along, until we’re at another door. And so they both whip out another key, both of which, this time, turn out to be totally unnecessary, since the door opens from the other side.

Framed in the doorway is a woman just the young side of old, right about my mom’s age, in fact. Except there’s nothing like motherly warmth from this one. She’s in black and grey, and everything about her seems taken from the meanest school teachers there ever were. 

“You guys walk loud,” she says. “And you’re late. Korra, come in. You two, go. If you ever get tortured, it’s best if you don’t have anything to confess.”

I wait for a smile, or something to indicate that was a punchline to a dark joke, but instead just get a grim stare. So, she’s serious about that, I guess. Mako and Bolin seem to think so, as they scurry off back home. I step in, because her voice isn’t really the kind you can say no to.

“I’m-”

“Korra. I know. I just said that. And I brought you here. Listen. Don’t talk. Ok?”

“O-”

“Nodding will suffice.”

I nod, and find a chair at a wooden table in an unadorned concrete basement. There are papers laid out, and several file folders. 

“My name is Chief Beifong. I have a first name, but you don’t need to know it, and you certainly don’t need to use it. Your name is Korra, but that doesn’t matter either. Nothing about you does. In fact, that’s exactly why you were brought here, for this. Because you’re nothing. From nowhere.”

So far, this is not the greeting I’d expected. Surely I’d been brought to Republic City because of some aptitude? I’d been a promising young detective, back home. The cases were getting too small for me. I was brought here to work the biggest ones.

“First: You work at Sharks. Doing something. Bouncing, bartending, whatever. Random things. Doesn’t really matter what. The boys hired you off the dock, and that’s why you live there. The Textile thing was a lie to cover that lie, because speakeasys don’t hire in public. Neither do we. You are not, in any official capacity, a cop. If you’re caught, we will deny you. And we have no paperwork documenting your employment, so it’ll be easy. So, if you want to survive, I strongly suggest you don’t get caught.”

That is my plan, actually. So we agree on that, at least.

She shoves some newspapers my way. “These are from down South. As you can see, there are numerous articles documenting your disgraced exit from the force, and subsequent fleeing to Republic City. Quite the scandal. You’ve moved here out of shame, after ‘things’ happened. It’s vague, so people will imagine the worst. That’s good. That means no one would suspect you’re working here. Of course, we planted these stories, paid the right people the right amount. And no, your parents have no idea.”

That was going to be my question. When I was allowed questions. Now it’s just sitting inside of me, rotting. Mom and dad think I’ve ran off to Republic City in disgrace. That my whole thing about a job offer was a lie. I feel a sudden urge to bolt from this room, to get back on a boat and swear to them that I didn’t do… whatever it is people are saying I did. 

“As to why you’re here: The Sato family business. The underground portion, as you and everyone else knows, is built on moving booze. Of course, knowing a thing and being able to prove a thing are two very different things. This is doubly true when Hiroshi has half my staff and three quarters of the judiciary on his payroll. I brought you here because you don’t have ties. You haven’t been corrupted. Yet. Hopefully you can be useful before that happens. Your job is to get inside the Sato syndicate - we’ve got a list of possible avenues - and give us anything at all. There are rumors of rising tension between the Sato family and the Beifong-”

Apparently my eyes give something away. I noticed the names. She notices that I noticed. She glares. 

“The last names?”

I nod.

“The Sato family controls the booze racket in Republic City, but the citizens have appetites for other things too. Things like opium. Now, basically all the opium that we get is imported to Little Zaofu from the Earth Kingdom. Once it arrives, it’s distributed by a syndicate led by someone who does have my last name. Want to guess why?”

I don’t, really. “You’re related.”

“We were.”

“Were? Wait, how-”

“Because fuck her, that’s how.”

That’s clear enough for me.

“As I was saying, the Beifong syndicate is the Sato’s only real rival, in terms of money and firepower. They even have their own weaponized daughter-slash-lieutenant. Well, ‘daughter’. Doesn’t matter. They’ve coexisted these last few years, mostly because they don’t share a market. But we’re hearing that could be changing soon. Obviously, a full scale syndicate war would be a disaster for this city. So anything you could get related to that would be especially useful. But I’m getting ahead of myself. First, we need to establish how you’re getting in. Now, our first lead-”

“I got an invite to the Red Raven.”

She’s smiling. It’s horrible. Doesn’t quite look right on her face. It takes that lump in my gut, twists it around, and bounces it. She doesn’t seem to mind that I interrupted. Not with that line.

“How?”

“A guy on the docks stole my wallet, so I chased him down and took it back. A few toughs saw the whole thing, I guess. They said Sato could use someone like me, and said I should swing by.”

She’s laughing now, pounding her hands on the table. It’s more disturbing than the smile, which I didn’t think was possible. She manages to find space between gasping for air to mutter words. Barely.

“They… they said Sato could.... that Sato could… ‘use’ someone-” 

And then she just loses it. I glance around the room. Poke around the papers. Try to grasp the fact that I’m now a disgraced nobody, about to be thrown to the wolves. If I get torn apart, I get torn apart. Apparently nobody much minds. After thirty seconds or so, the Chief manages to find her composure.

“I’m sorry… that’s… that’s just too good. Really. Beyond what we could have hoped for. I mean, it did cross our minds. That’s another reason why you’re, well, you.”

“Me?”

“Water Tribe.”

I don’t want to guess what significance that could possibly have, and couldn’t even if I wanted to. But I can’t really find the words to form the question either, so I just blink, which I guess gets the message across.

The Chief clears her throat. “Sato has - or is rumored to have, I should say - a bit of a, uh, Water Tribe weakness, isn’t it called?” She grins, and it’s still a damn ugly thing.

Of course, this whole thing seems ugly to me now. Hiroshi Sato’s a powerful man, and that appeals to some people. But not me. Not in the slightest. And I’ve seen pictures. Who hasn’t? He’s older than my father. And even given that, not much of a looker. I’m sick. Or getting there. I push away from the table, and stand up, ready to leave, jump in the ocean, and swim home. 

“I have standards,” I manage. “He’s what? Sixty? Fuck that. I’m not a whore. Find somebody else.”

Her damn grin gets bigger. “Of course you’re not. Sit down, sit down. We’re not trying to pawn you off in… that way.” She shrugs. “But looks matter. It’s how the world works. And if Sato likes Water Tribe…”

She doesn’t finish. I just glare, still standing. “I don’t give a shit what Hiroshi likes.”

“Did I say Hiroshi?”

"You-" Oh. 

She fishes for something, finds it, and hands it to me. It’s a picture. The woman is my age, more or less. Sharp, fine features. Piercing, almond shaped eyes. Black hair, like the ocean on a bright night…

She’s the kind of beauty people call cruel. But that’s not really accurate. Cruel is a person putting a bullet inside another person for a nasty look. Her beauty is ‘cruel’ like an ice storm back home, which isn’t really cruel at all. It’s just nature, at its most powerful. Blinding. Stunning. Still, it can kill you just as easy as a bullet to the head, if you’re not careful. I resolve to be very careful.

“Asami?” I ask.

The Chief nods. “Now, sit down. We have a lot more to go over.”

I sit, slowly, and the whole time my eyes are tracing the cheekbones in the picture. Damn.

She smiles. “It’s good that you have standards. It’s better that she apparently meets them.”


	5. Chapter 5

It’s cold down South. We’re called the Water Tribe, but ice - or snow - might be a more accurate moniker. Or the Frigid Death Tribe. Either way, something else. Probably wouldn’t help our already lagging tourism though, so Water Tribe it is. 

Of course, being this cold, our dresses tend to be of the more… conservative variety. Exposed skin quickly becomes frostbitten skin, and that doesn’t look good on anyone. So, I’m looking through my closet, finding plenty of things people might call “traditional”, “pretty”, whatever. But I’m looking at that picture of Asami Sato - research is important for detectives, after all - and thinking that maybe I want something that goes a little past “pretty”. I’m not finding it.

A knock on the door. Bolin’s standing there, holding something blue, while his face turns red.

“Good, you’re up. I hope your first sleep in Republic City has refreshed you like the cool, crisp waters of your homeland.”

“It was fine. Don’t know about refreshing. But it’s past noon. Why wouldn’t I be up?”

“I thought maybe yesterday would’ve worn you out.”

I shrug. “I’ve been reading all morning. Lot to learn given what I’m doing.” Of course, he doesn’t know anything about that.

“Anyway… I, uh, don’t really know why… but Chief guessed at your measurements and, uh… sent some people to buy this, and, uh… told me to give it to you…”

I take the blue cloth in my hand, hold it up, and watch as it unfolds. It’s a dress, with a damn long slit where my right leg’s going to end up.

He stares. I stare at him staring.

“I’m going to try it on.”

Nothing.

“Bo, shut the door. And be on the other side when you do.”

He flushes, and is gone as quickly as he can manage it. 

Chief got my measurements right, even if - or especially since - there’s not a bit of loose fabric above the waist. It’s… blue. Never could tell cobalt from azure from… blue. So it’s blue. Darker in the middle, where a three centimeter strip or so of black… something… goes from my hip bones to the lower part of my stomach, all the way around. It’s a halter top, with two bits of fabric crossing at my collarbones, and tying behind my neck. Bare shoulders works for me. And the slit on the right side… well, it’s there. And it goes halfway up my thigh. 

“Come in, Bo.”

“Hey, you can’t just assume I was waiting right outside your door to check… oh. Heh. Ok.”

He opens the door, still blushing.

“Pretty?” I ask, hands on hips.

“Not the word I was going to use.” 

It looks like the blood is going to rush from his cheeks, right out his nose. I figure this works.

\-----

The boys drive me to the Red Raven that night. Nominally a jazz club, and it appears to actually be that, since I can hear the music from down the block. I catch myself patterning movements to it, walking in time, ready for… something that I hope isn’t coming, but you never know. 

Walk up to the front door, and there’s a hulk of a man there, wearing a suit. How they found one to fit him, I have no idea. He checks his list, says I can go in. I’m almost miffed.

“Wasn’t crimson sunset the password? Or something like that? Didn’t I need one?”

“Korra? No. You’re in. Head to the back. Private room.”

Getting invited to the most exclusive room in Republic City’s most exclusive club already. I should feel pretty full of myself right now, but I’m just full of anxiety. Fear, honestly. She knows. I don’t know how she knows, but she knows. I’m going to walk back there, and she’s going to put a bullet in my head. Or a thousand, if what Mako said about her Sato Special is accurate.

But I walk in, head to the back, because I don’t have a life to return to anyway.

It’s a nice place. Damn nice place, so far as I can tell. Which isn’t very far, but still. A pretty, expensive place, filled with pretty, expensive people. And music to move to. I walk in time, head to the bar - which is right out in the open; guess the Sato's really can do whatever they want - and order a sidecar. Asami wants to see me, and I want to see her. But damn I’m not doing it without a drink. I ask the bartender where the back even is, and I see him laugh, can almost hear him think “Water Tribe girl, of course”, and he points me towards a door.

Sipping my drink, walking to the music, I almost feel like I belong here. The man at the door opens it for me, without a word, and I feel like maybe I belong a little too much.

It’s a small room. One curving couch, arced like half a moon around a single table. Four men on the wall, each with Sato submachine guns. Or what I guess are. Nobody down South had the things yet, when I left. There are papers on the table, with all sorts of numbers on them. Looks like math beyond me, even if I were totally focused on it. Which I’m not.

Seated in the center of the couch is Asami Sato, a vision in scarlet. Deep red dress, slit up her right leg as well, a high neck with a gold clasp, and bare arms. I hate that picture now, for ruining her face. For not preparing me to stand in front of this. Maybe she’s an ice storm, but now I’m burning up.

She looks up from her numbers, whipping her hair. It’s theatrical, but damn if it doesn’t work. “You must be Korra. Come. Sit.” She pats right next to her. 

I shuffle over, feeling for all the world like a fraud, like there’s nowhere else I belong less. I almost wish she just shoots me soon, ends it quick. But I sit. And I scoot over, right next to her. She smiles. I smile. 

“Crimson sunset, huh?”

She raises a single eyebrow, and it almost lifts me out of my seat. “What are you talking about?”

I have no idea what I’m talking about. “That was… uh, the password. Right? The password I didn’t use. Because I didn’t have to. I was going to guess that maybe it was another nickname for you.”

She smiles. I was already burning, but I’ll be ash in minutes now. “I didn’t want to burden you with such things. But why do you guess that it would be ‘another’ nickname? How many do you know for me?”

Out of all the things to open with, I picked the worst possible. I’m now pretty damn sure. “Well, there’s, you know, this place. Red Raven, right?”

She just tilts her head.

“And… and… crimson sunset, you know, seemed to me like maybe the same sort of thing. A beautiful, deep red. And then it’s all black. For you. Forever.”

“You’re calling me beautiful.”

I have no words.

“And you’re calling me a killer.”

I’d get up and run, except she’s turned towards me now, and her right hand is on my leg. This close, and I can smell her a little. It’s intoxicating. 

She nods to the papers. “I’m more bookkeeper than butcher. Not that one precludes the other.” 

I just nod, ready to agree with anything at all she says. Two plus two equals five? If you say so, Miss Sato. Asami. Can I call you Asami? 

“But I liked that you talked to me like that. You’re clever. At least a little. And not afraid to say… things, to me. You’re not from here. I know. And that’s good. I also know why you’re here.”

The last words I’ll hear before I die.

“I talked to a source down South, who said you fled to Republic City, after being fired from the force. It checks out.”

It does? I catch the words in my throat, before they can escape. 

“I also know you were picked up by the Sharks boys. They don’t have the worst place. And being there, it’s not the worst work. But then, I have the best place. And I have the best work in mind for you. Some of my men saw you on the docks, and said you moved well, that you had good hands.”

She smiles, leans in closer. I can feel her breath on my ear, and the only thing I want in the world is for her lips to move just that much closer. Closer, and lower. 

“Show me how good your hands are.”


	6. Chapter 6

I have good hands. Useful hands. Hands that can fight, figure, and even, yes, pickpocket.

She wants to see what my hands can do? Suddenly, my mind is blank. Then, as quickly, it’s full of a thousand things I could do. To her. Right now. I glance around the room, feeling a little awkward about the guards.

Her hand moves almost imperceptibly higher up my thigh. Almost, because I do perceive it. My skin is perceiving her every movement, right now.

“Don’t worry about them,” she says.

I nod, and my left hand moves to her exposed right leg. Her skin is silk, and I feel it shift closer, responding to my touch. She moves her hips, and lets out a slight, soundless breath. It wisps down my neck and spine, and I feel it like a cool breeze on a warm summer’s night. But I’m still on fire. I shudder slightly, and feel another breath from her, which could have been the beginning of a laugh.

Our hands each climb higher, slowly, not wanting to seem overeager. The room is choked with anticipation, thick as steam in a sauna, as we climb nearer and nearer the precipice, until simultaneously, we reach our marks.

We share a gasp.

Then, we share a flurry of movement, as all pretense of caution is abandoned.

Finally, we share stillness. She’s got my snub-nosed 25 cal, drawn from its thigh holster and aimed right between my eyes; and I’ve got hers, drawn as well, and pointed right back the other direction.

“A matching set,” she says, with far too big a grin for someone looking down a barrel.

I grit my teeth, realizing the reason for her calm. “Not quite.”

She cocks her head. “Oh? Please, elaborate.”

“Well, first of all, you’ve got four men with SMG’s, ready to take me down if I so much as think of pulling the trigger. So right there, you’ve won. Of course, even if I wanted to fire, I couldn’t. Damn thing isn’t loaded. I have the same model, and I know the weight of it as sure as I know anything. Feels different with an empty clip. This one feels exactly that kind of different. Like your head after a haircut. And given that ‘first of all’, the men with their machine guns, you wouldn’t need a loaded gun anyway. It’s easy figuring.”

She nods, approving. “You do have good hands. Test one, passed. And a better than expected mind, frankly. You’re situationally aware, even realizing when you’ve lost. And why. Test two, passed. Now, test three: Try to win anyway.”

I’d be insulted that she figured I was some dumb Southern rube, but the thought of imminent death tends to crowd out everything else. I lower the gun, slowly, set it on the table. Glance around the room, get my bearings, work out the angles. Line up guards one, two, three, four. And Asami herself. I shrug.

“I always was a bit of a sore loser.”

My hands move, and by their guidance, so does my sidecar move from its glass. It erupts into the air, coalesces into ten drops, each of which I fling into the eyes that are targeting me. If it hits, perfect. If they blink, good enough. If they flinch, well, I’ll see what I can do.

The guards all blink, or at least flinch. Guns lower, and I’m ready to make my move. I reach for Asami’s gun - well, my gun; but guns are only loyal to the finger on the trigger at that moment - only Asami didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. The alcohol took her square in the eyes, and she didn’t react. Her eyes - and the gun - are still trained right between my eyes.

“You knew I was-”

“A waterbender? Yes. It’s my job - well, one of them - to know things. To know everything. Especially about people I’m inviting into such close proximity. A bender is a rare thing, these days. Rare means valuable. And I like that.”

The guards are wiping out their eyes - so it did hit all of them, then - and I’m still trying to grasp how that didn’t work.

“You could try something else, of course. Turn the liquid to ice, and attempt to knock the gun from my hand. Or perhaps get it wet, and hope it won’t fire.”

I shake my head. “I could try a hundred different things. Wouldn’t matter. That attempt at bending was only going to work if you didn’t know it was coming. Which of course you did, but I couldn’t predict that. But let’s assume you didn’t know I could waterbend before. You sure as shit know now. And once you know, I’m well and truly fucked. You’d pull the trigger the second I began the hand movements.”

She nods, smiling. “I win?”

“I get the feeling you always do,” I grumble, like a petulant child who’s just lost a trivial game.

“Yes. And that’s the real bitch of test three: Forget whatever silly pseudonyms you’ve heard, regarding me. Forget the child’s horror stories and mythology. The only name you need is Asami fucking Sato. And the only story you need is the truth, which is that I win. Every time. This is immutable.”

Her eyes are daggers now, ready to carve up anyone who disagrees with the overwhelming truth of that statement. I don’t.

“Can I ask how you…”

“How I won this time? How I ignored your attack?”

“Exactly.”

“Of course you can ask.”

“Will you answer?”

She’s welcoming again. An inviting, attractive beauty. The daggers are sheathed. But I’ve seen them now, and that’s not a thing to forget.

“I will, actually. Contacts. I always wear them when I suspect I’ll be facing a waterbender. If I’m not wearing goggles already. For situations like this, where goggles would suggest paranoia, they work well. Useful enough against earthbenders too. Dirt in the eyes is no good, and they do love that trick. It would be helpful against metalbenders as well, I suspect. Though we don’t see many of those. And regardless, metal could certainly pierce it. So, maybe not so helpful. Goggles though, with platinum rims...”

She’s a little in her own world now, winning fights against metalbenders that haven’t happened yet. Nostalgic for an imagined future. I slump into the couch, and the gun follows my head down. I figured she’d shoot me, after all. But on account of my being an undercover cop, sent to spy on her. Not on account of her just… feeling like it, apparently.

“Do I get any last words?”

“No.”

That seems needlessly cruel, but then I’m not in a position to bargain. I’d ask why not, but it doesn’t much matter. She tells me anyway.

“No, because I’m not going to kill you. You passed the tests.”

“But I didn’t win.”

“Of course you didn’t. You were playing against me.”

So, passing the third test just meant failing impressively? I’m stunned to the point of numbness, right up until I feel my cold gun up against my leg, where she’s sliding it back up to my thigh holster. She pulls her hand back slowly, and it’s warm, lingering. I feel my leg extending in pursuit.

“Let me ask you something, Blue.”

Blue? Me, oh, right. The eyes. “Fire away.” Poor choice of words, given the previous few seconds. But my mind is racing.

“Are you a vegetarian?”

“No? I mean, no. Water Tribe. We don’t… we barely know what that word means.”

“I figured. But still, there are exceptions to every cultural norm. So, you eat meat. It’s from a dead animal, of course. You see nothing wrong with this. And yet you wouldn’t, say, go shoot a dog for fun, would you?”

I’m not at all sure where she’s going with this, but I just shake my head, because no, I wouldn’t do that.

“So you understand the fundamental difference between killing for utility and killing out of cruelty. Good. I do the former, not the latter. I’m not going to kill you, because you strike me as exceptionally useful. More useful than I even dared hope, if you’ll indulge me a moment of flattery. Thus killing you would be both cruel and wasteful. I am neither of those things.”

I’ll indulge her that, but doing so puts a rush of blood in my cheeks, and I’m reminded of Bolin, earlier this morning. I could interpret this as her calling me a dog, maybe, but I don’t let my mind go down that path.

“Thanks…” I manage, which seems like far too weak a statement for the occasion.

She smiles, and it’s a politician’s toothy grin, promising the world. “Not only am I going to let you live, I’m going to offer you a job. You want it, I presume?”

I don’t have a damn clue what it is, but my job is to get a job with the Sato’s, so sure, I want it. I nod.

“Fantastic. A driver will come get you tomorrow, around noon. I’ll explain things to you then, in greater detail.” She bites her lip. “I do, however, have some bad news.”

She’s going to shoot me tomorrow instead? Apparently this thought flashes across my eyes, because she looks concerned for a moment, and then her hands are on my shoulders. It’s a comforting touch, but I don’t fail to notice that she’s squeezing more than a little. I don’t fail to flex more than a little in response.

“I’m not going to shoot you unless you give me a reason. A damn good one. I don’t shoot anyone without that. I’m not cruel, remember? I’m not a murderer. I’m a businesswoman. So, don’t give me a reason, and we won’t have a problem. Anyway, it’s good news too. So let’s start with that. The good news is that you’re hired. That means you don’t have to spend all day in a dingy pool hall, getting paid peanuts to sell stale beer to stale people.”

Her hands begin to move slowly down my arms, and she’s scooting in closer again. I’m tense, then loose, like her breath - which is on my neck again - just reaches inside me, grabs a thread, and pulls until I unwind completely.

Her lips brush against my neck, my cheek, then the corner of my lips. I turn, to get the full force of the kiss; but she pulls back, teasing, and I’m left with just a taste. I’m hungry for more, and my hands reach out for her hips, grasping, ready to take her, right here. She laughs, brushing my hands away.

“Sadly, the bad news is bad for both of us. And, perhaps somewhat ironically, the bad news is the same as the good news.”

I’m trembling, and I want her mouth to do anything but talk right now. “That I’m hired? How is that bad news?”

“Because, Blue, I don’t fuck my employees.”

\-----

Leaving the Red Raven, I stop at the bar. A man is there, holding two fingers of something that looks like whiskey. Something I hope is whiskey. The bartender eyes me, smiles. “Done already?” he’s thinking.

I look up at the bartender. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

He moves to find the bottle of whatever it is, and I say “Don’t bother,” grab the drink, pour it back, and slam down the glass. I wipe my face, grimace, pat the man on the back whose drink I just downed. “Needed that. Thanks.”

I walk out into the cool night. It’s raining a little, and I feel like steam is rising off of me. I hail a taxi, and just shake my head. Asami fucking Sato. She always wins. And then there’s me, Korra - or Blue, I guess - who’s nothing more than a piece on the board, totally ignorant to the game being played.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bending! Asami fucking Sato!
> 
> And, wait, where did you think their hands were going?


	7. Chapter 7

Sharks is a pool hall, and right now, the patrons are swimming in smoke. Walking in, I remember it’s still early, so the fact that it’s busy shouldn’t be surprising. Still, it’s so damn early because I had a quick night. I don’t let my mind wander in the direction of imagining what else I could - maybe even should - be doing right now. Don’t think about why my night’s ended early. The cab ride over was only about twenty minutes, so I’d just now… no. Just, no. Because nothing happened. 

Well, that’s not strictly true. A lot of things happened. I met Asami Sato. Asami fucking Sato, sorry. I learned that she wins, always and forever, and why. I pointed an empty gun at her face, but she pointed a loaded one right between my blue eyes. Blue. Apparently she noticed, because that’s what she called me. Is that a pet name? She did, maybe, compare me to a dog, right? So is having a pet name a good thing? Or the worst thing? Dogs are nice, until they’re not, at which point they’re taken out back and shot. 

I come right back around to figuring it might good, bad, whatever. It just doesn’t matter. Apathy is the best medicine. 

Still, when I wander downstairs, Mako - who is behind the bar - offers me something a little stronger. I’d like to say yes, but something’s off with my stomach, and I don’t think it’s whatever I slammed down before I left the Red Raven. 

“Hey, Mako, got a light?” calls someone down the bar.

Mako points his finger like a gun, and a little whiff of flame puffs out. Huh. We don’t have too many - maybe not any, come to think of it - firebenders down South. Being the Water Tribe, I suppose that makes sense. The guy gets his light, and Mako blows the tip of his imaginary pistol. There’s a little polite laughter from the peanut gallery. 

I look around and feel entirely overdressed all of a sudden, like I’ve walked out of a catalog and into the yellow pages of a copper piece novel. I feel eyes on me, and that confirms it. Mako seems to sense something is off, so he sets a drink on fire, and everyone looks at that instead. By the time they look back, I’m up and out, walking through the maze of pool tables. 

Bolin is there, leaning up against a table, casually twirling that stick thing you use to play. That’s kind of a nothing observation, but what holds my eyes is that he’s talking - quite comfortably, it seems - with a cute girl. She’s got short bangs, highlighting her bright green eyes. They’re almost wet, shimmering like jewels, and they match her outfit, which is a deeper, forest green. I have to fight down a sudden urge to go pat him on the back, and then swear him to silence about being a poet appearing out of mist, or whatever else. But she’s giggling, so maybe that stuff works on her. Or maybe he’s got new material. Either way, best not to interrupt.

\-----

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting on the couch in the living room, but I figure it’s been a while, since Mako stumbles in with a yawn. He rubs his eyes like I’m some kind of spirit who wandered down here to change into something more comfortable, sat down, and never bothered to get back up.

“You’ve been sitting there for… what, three hours?” 

I figure that’s about right, or about right enough, anyway. I tilt my head. Not even a shrug.

He sits down beside me. “I… can’t ask what happened, exactly. We’re not allowed to know details. But if you want to…”

“Tell you as little as possible, in the blind hope that getting a feather off my shoulders instead of the dresser that’s sitting there will make a damn bit of difference?”

He looks down, rubs his hands. “Not what I was going to say.”

“You weren’t going to say it, but you were going to mean it anway.”

He doesn’t deny it, or say anything else, so we just sit. 

I decide to talk about someone else. “Where’s Bo?”

Mako shrugs. “Still talking to that girl upstairs. We’re closed, but he can’t bring himself to kick her out.”

“She’s pretty.”

“That probably has something to do with it.”

“He working an angle on her?”

“Huh? Oh, no. We don’t… do that, exactly. If he’s talking to a girl, it’s because he’s talking to a girl. That’s not really remarkable. That she’s been talking back all night though…” He whistles, then rubs his forehead. “She’d be a pretty damn big angle to work, though. A Beifong, if you can believe it.”

“Related to Chief?”

“Yeah.”

“Related to the Beifong syndicate then?”

He takes a deep breath. “Yup.”

I just laugh, and it feels good. This is funny. Maybe not the good kind, but right now, any kind is the good kind. 

“Mako, I’m going to tell you something that could get you tortured.”

He lets out that deep breath he just took in. Doesn’t say yes, but doesn’t say no, either.

“I saw Asami tonight. Sato. Asami Sato.” The name still sounds wrong. Like a title, not a person. Certainly not a person I just met. Who I touched… but, no. Not going there. “I’m going to see her again tomorrow. Probably a lot more after that.”

“You working an angle on her?” 

“That’s the goal, but no. I don’t think that’s possible. Maybe she’s working an angle on me, but I damn sure don’t know what it is yet.”

“How was she?”

My cheeks are on fire, and my fists are ready to fly. “Fuck, Mako. She barely even kissed me, much less-”

His hands are up, and he’s recoiling. “Shit, no, sorry. I didn’t mean… I meant, like, as a person… how was she? People say a lot of things and it’s hard to say what’s real and… wait… she kissed you?”

My face is in my hands. To hide the blushing. And to hide the fact that I’m close to tears. It’s not the kiss. Nothing like that. Or at least, not just that. It’s all of this. Barely off the fucking boat, my past life shit all over, and now… and now I don’t even know. I don’t know what any of this is. 

“It wasn’t… it wasn’t a kiss, really. It was the promise of a kiss, that turned into a lie. A tease. She was fucking with me.” I sit up, choke back the notion of tears, and then sigh. “And it worked.”

“She’s Asami Sato,” he says, and that’s enough.

We stare at the wall for a moment, and then a minute. 

Another minute, and it's not enough for me anymore.

“What does that name mean? To you.” 

“You ever heard of the Agni Kai Triad?” he asks.

“Rings a bell, but I can’t recall why. Triple Threats, Red Monsoon, Terra. I know those.”

He nods. “The Agni Kai were - and to a tiny extent, still are - the firebending triad. Twenty years ago, they might have been more powerful than the names you mentioned. But twenty years ago, they made a mistake. And that’s the reason nobody talks about them anymore. Because they’re gone, basically.”

“Mako, you have to give me a little more to go on than that. They didn’t just vanish.”

“That’s fair. And no, they didn’t. But it’s a bit long. That okay?”

I check the clock, knowing I have to do… something… at noon. So it’s not really okay. 

“It’s fine,” I say.

“All right,” he says, and clears his throat. 

“Twenty years ago, several members of the Agni Kai broke into the Sato mansion. It was intimidation, we think, although the actual perpetrators were never caught, so we can’t really say why they did it. Still, it makes sense. This was back when prohibition was just a rumor, and Hiroshi Sato was just thinking of dipping his feet into the black waters of the underworld. The Agni Kai wanted to dissuade him. We think.”

I’m awake now. Entirely present. 

“During the break-in, they killed Asami’s mother. Maybe that was the idea, maybe it just happened. We don’t know. In the chaos, they lost a few things that clearly identified them as Agni Kai men, even beyond the testimony given by the Sato estate workers, and Hiroshi himself. They also started a massive fire, without any starter. Not even a token matchbook. That made things a little more obvious. Now, Hiroshi was already a very rich and powerful man, at this point. So he combined that evidence with all of his influence to get ten of the Agni Kai higher-ups put away for fifteen years. Conspiracy to do... something, I think. Pretty heavy, considering none of them could be tied to the scene. And frankly, none of them could really be shown to have ordered it, either. But I guess money can buy justice as easy as injustice. Just never really seems to work that way.” 

I can’t disagree. But then there’s a lot of things worth wishing for in this world, and none of that wishing does any good. 

“Story, Mako. We can dish on the inequities of the judicial system some other time.”

He wipes the sleep from his eyes. “Right. Sorry. Heavy sentence or not, a young Asami Sato didn’t see this as justice. At least, not enough. So she set about turning herself into a weapon. After those fifteen years were up, the Agni Kai had themselves a meeting at a club called the Last Dance. By this time, they - and the Triads in general - had lost a ton of ground to the Sato syndicate. So the Agni Kai gathered up every member they could find, to try and figure a way back up the ladder. And the rumor is actually that Hiroshi was happy enough to leave this alone. He didn’t want open war, and told Asami that the best revenge was simply to live well. And by that time, the Sato’s were living better than anyone. Future Industries was thriving, and so were Hiroshi’s… other ventures. Asami disagreed. We know this, because we know what happened next. The papers called it the Last Dance Massacre. Some say bullets passed through her like she was a spirit, or that she just sucked the life out of people’s eyes, and devoured it. It gets hard to separate the myth from the fact with her. But we do know that there wasn’t a single live body there in the morning. Kind of makes you wonder how a story like that gets out, then, but it did. And it still gets around plenty. So when I hear 'Asami Sato', that's what it means to me.” 

\-----

That night, I don’t have nightmares. They’re too damn scared of what's already swimming around my head.


	8. Chapter 8

Back home, I never found much need for an alarm clock. New age types will tell you that connections form between people and place, and I don’t know; that sort of spiritualism never really made sense to me. But I do know that, down South, I woke when it was time to wake; and that’s saying something, considering we’re far enough down that days get both really short and really long, depending on the time of year. 

So maybe if I were home, I wouldn’t have slept through my alarm. Through an hour, apparently, of metal on metal clanging, of ringing that could wake the dead, but not me. When I get the sleep rubbed from my eyes, it’s noon. Noon, when I’m supposed to meet a driver. The driver that’s supposed to take me to meet Asami Sato, destroyer of entire gangs, and maybe eater of spirits. She doesn’t seem like the sort of person to tolerate an employee being late the first day of work. 

Thinking about all that, imagining again that she could just shoot me, a loud string of profanity is all I can manage. 

I hear footsteps rapidly approaching, and then a knock on the door.

“You okay, Korra?” It’s Mako asking.

I sigh. “Fuck no. I mean, fuck, no. I was supposed to be upstairs and ready by noon, and it’s, well, it’s noon right now. I don’t have pants on yet. This is a problem.”

“Doesn’t sound like a problem to me,” says Asami Sato. 

Wait. Says Asami Sato? I freeze, and yet I’m suddenly warm all over. I think maybe this is a dream, or a bit of sleep hangover. She’s not right outside my fucking door. 

“Mako… did you just sound like a girl?”

“Not… to my knowledge?” he says. “Your, uh, driver is here though. She wanted to wait in the living room, and, uh, I guess I kind of said yes.”

“Mako, is my driver Asami Sato?”

“That certainly appears to be the case.”

“Asami?”

“Yes, Blue?”

“I… thought you were sending a driver?”

“I didn’t say I was sending anyone. I said a driver would come get you. And I happen to be the best driver we have. Furthermore, I’m working on a V12 Satomobile prototype. I’ve borrowed the engine from our biplane manufacturing arm, and, well, I have to admit I’m stealing every possible moment to drive it.”

I still haven’t moved, glancing only at the alarm clock, expecting the hands to go backwards, or something to signify that this isn’t happening. At least not like this. But… it appears she isn’t going to shoot me. So that’s something. A good something. She even sounds… pleased? The Asami Sato I met last night was Asami fucking Sato; her voice was all sex and violence. The Asami Sato I just heard sounded happy in a way that implied nothing else. Like she just loved the damn engine. 

“Uh, ok?” I manage. “Just... give me a few minutes to get dressed. I can get ready pretty quick.” 

Getting dressed was also an automatic thing, back home. Loose pants, blue top, arm sleeves if it was a little chilly. Which it always was. Yesterday, I’d dressed up. But that dress was my one round of ammunition, and it’s spent now. Can’t wear it again today, not in front of her. And I don’t know where we’re going, or what we’re doing. Don’t know how I’m supposed to look, or how she wants me to look. I also don’t know why I should care what she wants, regarding that, but I can’t entirely shake the feeling. 

“Fuck it,” I whisper to no one. Loose pants, boots, blue top, no sleeves. I add a fur wrap around my waist, as a nod to tradition and a means to cover my handgun. Asami will expect me to have it, I’m sure; but I’m not hiding it from her, so much as whoever we might be going to see. It seems pretty likely to me that this will be another test, and maybe she’ll want to see me kill someone. 

I pause at the thought. Could I do it? Would I? Maybe if they were Triad, if they deserved it… but what if I didn’t know? What if it was just a body, with a bag over the head? “Shoot them,” she says. “Prove your loyalty.” My palms are sweating and my arm is trembling and the gun is outstretched, ready to fire, but I’m anything but. They aren’t talking and I wonder if they can, or if their mouth is tied. Maybe they’re a cop, like me? Maybe this is what she does to undercover police that she catches spying? Maybe we’re going to go for a drive, and she’s going to tie a bag over my head, and ask the next Water Tribe girl off the boat to split my head open with a bullet? Maybe-

“Blue?” Asami knocks.

Shit. I wipe my hands on the fur - they’re actually sweating - and say “Ready.”

I open the door and see Asami Sato standing in my doorway. I said I was ready, but I was wrong. She’s not wearing a dress today either, going instead with heavily pocketed burgundy pants, knee high boots, and a long sleeved jacket, asymmetrically buttoned on the right, black except for that same deep red in the center, and accents on the shoulders. I don’t see that she has a gun, but I know better.

I think back to Bolin saying something about plain clothes not hiding my true beauty, or some shit like that, and think maybe this is what he was driving at, standing in front of me right now. 

I remind myself that this is work, and exactly what kind of work this is. “Ready,” I say again. Maybe if I say it enough, I will be. 

\-----

The Satomobile is a beast of a machine, beautiful and powerful and terrible in all the right ways. And I don’t know a damn thing about engines, much less what a V12 is, but I know this one roars like a monster to keep children awake at night.

Or at least, I didn’t know a damn thing about engines. I’m learning, though. Since we started driving, Asami started talking, and every word has been about fuel injection, pistons, air filters, torque, and a million other words I don’t know. I’m starting to wonder if she’s hired me to be a mechanic.

I also notice that we’re not driving anywhere in particular. Even being brand new to Republic City, I have enough basic directional sense to know wandering when I see it. Certainly enough to know wandering when I’m doing it. And right now, I’m - we’re - wandering. Sure as anything. She’s picking out the longest straight stretches of road she can find, and speeding up until the engine’s roar becomes a scream to boil your blood. She’s finding the tightest turns, and taking them like she’s got a deathwish. Every time, I feel my body pulled from its seat, only - and barely - held in place by the seat belt. 

She comments on all of this. On the acceleration. On the handling. On the suspension, the tires, and the seat belts. Apparently there are newer, more strict government regulations coming in regarding those. The car we’re in right now has seat belts that will comply. I wonder if she’s driving like this just to see if they work, or if I’ll go flying through a deli window somewhere. 

“Seems a little funny,” I say.

She breaks off from talking about the rubber composition of the tires. “Huh?”

I know what I was going to say, but think it’s probably not the best thing to voice. But then I make a habit of saying things best left behind lips. 

“Seems a little funny that… I mean… given your side business… that you’d worry about laws with your cars.”

She adjusts her hands on the steering wheel, and I flinch, like she just drew a gun. She just shrugs.

“Maybe. But Future Industries is one thing. That… other thing… is another thing.”

I consider myself lucky to get that much, even if that much is basically nothing. After a few minutes, she goes back to talking to me - or at me - about the technical aspects of this machine.

“You design this?” I ask.

She nods. “This, and a lot of other things. I’m Future Industries’ lead engineer.”

Mako mentioned that she’d designed an impressive machine gun, but not that she made cars. And not that she made whatever ‘other things’ covers. Which, given the ‘lead engineer’ title, is probably a lot. Listening to her talk, it doesn’t sound like a job she got by being daddy’s little girl. Not that I’d know if every word she said about the car was wrong. Still, it sounded impressive. She’s good at being impressive.

“You wear a lot of hats,” I say. Not sure if it’s a compliment or not, exactly, considering what at least one of those other hats is.

She doesn’t seem phased by it, in any case. “So long as they don’t mess with my hair, yeah, I do.” The corner of her lip twitches up. Almost a grin.

She does have exceptional hair, no doubt about that. Top down on the car, it’s whipping in the wind, each strand moving like it’s part of a troop of a thousand dancers. Shit. I wonder if this is what it sounds like in Bolin’s head. I silence that voice. This is work. She is work.

She seems to reach the same conclusion, more or less, because we’re slowing down, now parking, just outside a nondescript office building. Finally, work. Whatever that is.

“We’re going inside,” she says. “It’ll be a quick conversation, but an important one. Letters can be intercepted, and phones can be tapped. This needs to stay secret.”

I nod. “Got it. What am I doing?”

She shrugs. “If they try to kill me, don’t let them.”

Simple job. As simple as they get, really. But simple and easy are often pretty damn far apart. This feels like one of those times. 

“They?”

“The Dirt-” she shakes her head. “I probably should break that habit before I walk in the door. Not really a flattering thing to call them. The Beifongs. And, well, that’s not really right either. A Beifong. She’s new to town, just finished helping them consolidate things in Ba Sing Se. Maybe you’ve heard of her? Got a bit of a reputation.” She laughs. “You know, I remember when she first arrived there, a couple years back. She inspired probably the worst newspaper headline I’ve ever seen.” She clears her throat. “Ba Sing Say it Ain’t So: Kuvira Comes to Town.”

I nod. “I know the name. I also know the name those same papers gave her in the two years that followed: The Butcher of Ba Sing Se.”

Simple job. But damn it’s not looking easy. 

Asami tosses her hair, and smiles. Looking for all the world like this should be a fun little chat. 

“I’m actually looking forward to meeting her. People say we’re alike. If so, I’m in for quite a treat.”


	9. Chapter 9

The brick reaches high, and the windows are either covered with blinds or shuttered. Nondescript was generous, as it turns out. This is an empty building, and looking around, it looks like an empty part of town. The roads are cracked and the foundations are cracked and I bet if I could see anyone around, they’d look cracked too. 

I feel right at home. The anxiety is building inside me. I glance over at Asami, and she’s either as invincible as everyone says, or just doesn’t give a damn. I can’t guess at the former, but I can try to emulate the latter. Apathy is the best medicine, so I drink it down. Of course, a gun at your side is pretty good medicine too, so I finger that, just to make sure it’s still there. I reach with my left hand, and touch the glass vial of water I’ve got hooked opposite the gun, which is ammunition in its own way, for me. In case of emergency, break glass. I’m hoping I don’t have to, but hope can get you killed a lot quicker than preparation. 

Asami opens the door, confidently strolling down cracked halls, not sparing a glance at the doors we’re walking by. I imagine they’re all filled with Beifong soldiers, ready to jump out and shoot us to bits at any moment. Again, Asami either knows this isn’t a threat, or doesn’t care. She keeps walking, turning left down a staircase that I don’t entirely trust. It’s broken in places, crumbling where it’s not. But we go down, down, turning several more times, until we reach a set of double doors. 

Asami walks right through the middle of them, and then I hear the gunshots. I jump right in front of her, gun drawn. Just like a real bodyguard. I wonder how that instinct found hold in me, then notice that there aren’t any burning holes in my body, nor are there any around me. 

Asami places her hands on my shoulders, whispers “Good idea, Blue. But put the gun away. And keep it away. We’re here to talk. Really. No matter what you’ve heard about her - or me, for that matter.”

She guides me back to her side, and I do holster the gun. Her hands slide off, but I can’t help but think they linger. Several more gunshots, and I’m not too worried about that. My hand twitches for the gun, but I stop it. Asami nods, and walks.

I match her stride. This is a basement, but maybe even that word is too glamorous. We’re in a concrete box. Through another set of double doors, and we see four men, dressed all in a deep, forest green, aiming rifles at a wall. Against the wall is a hard woman. She has a jaw to break your fist on, and eyes to cut diamonds. She’s wearing a white tanktop and loose black pants, and when she moves, she’s all whipcord and sinew.

And she does move, right with the sound of rifle fire. I don’t twitch this time; I can’t. Seeing a woman executed… the body doesn’t know how to react.

But her movements aren’t those of a body being punched full of lead; they’re that of a body dancing with it, dancing around it. Her long braid swings like a rope behind her as she moves, and there are holes in the wall, all around her. 

“Fascinating,” Asami whispers. “Fascinating, and impossible.”

“I’d say so. She dodged four fucking bullets.”

“Not exactly,” says Asami. “It’s more like she made the bullets dodge her.”

The woman looks up, and with a quick flick of her hand, the men lower their rifles, and back away. She picks up a towel from the floor, wipes off her face, then straps on a belt full with bullets, holstering the biggest damn revolver I’ve ever seen. 

She ambles our direction. “Didn’t see you come in. Asami, right? And?” She points to me.

“Korra,” says Asami. “And yes, I’m Asami Sato. If we’re early, I’d normally apologize, but I’m really not sorry at all, in this case. That’s quite the… training regimen you have.” 

Asami is impressed, but I can see the gears moving behind her eyes. There isn’t fear there, but an acknowledgment that this is a threat, so you better figure out a way to deal with it. I figure she will, but I can’t guess at what it would be. As for me, I concentrate more on my vial, and less on my gun. 

The woman extends her hand, and Asami shakes it. It comes to me next, and I do as well. The cables in her forearms twist as she squeezes, and she does squeeze.

“I’m Kuvira. But of course you knew that already, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” She looks to Asami. “I was under the impression we would be meeting… alone.” So who is this, and why did you bring her? So goes the unasked question. 

Asami just thins her eyes, and widens her grin. All charm and composure. “I thought it would be polite to introduce her. I’ll be bringing her, and I’d hate to arouse suspicion on the night of.”

“So you are coming then?”

“Of course. Myself, my father, and about twenty of our highest ranking officers.”

Kuvira appraises me. “Is she one of those high ranking officers?”

“She is not, no. I was told we were allowed… personal guests? That’s still true, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Well, she is a personal guest. This, for all of its great import as a business meeting, still has some trappings of festivity. There will be music, drinking, dancing.” Asami curls her red lips at me. “I’d hate to be left without a dance partner.”

The corner of Kuvira’s lips rise just a fraction, and her hands rest on her waist. Her hips shift slightly. “I didn’t know you were-”

“I’m a person who appreciates beautiful things. Call it what you want.” Asami mirrors Kuvira’s stance, and her voice is the same as it was at the Red Raven. “And I didn’t know you shared that sensibility.”

Kuvira’s eyes narrow, and her fists clinch. The cables twist again. “I’m engaged.”

“Congratulations.”

Kuvira takes in and releases a deep breath. She laughs. “They said you were like this.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, fuck off with that, Sato. You know what you’re doing. And it’s transparent. Maybe others-” she glares at me “can’t see through it. But I can.”

Asami raises her hands, palms out. “I’m just here to RSVP. Nothing more. Well, and to let you know that Korra here will be coming with me. We don’t want any misunderstandings concerning that, or anything else.”

“No misunderstandings. You’re coming, with your father, some relevant people, and one escort.”

If she’s expecting Asami to react, she’s disappointed. If she’s expecting me to react, she’s not looking, so she doesn’t see that my fists are clenched now, and so are my teeth. I choke back a thousand words that could each get me killed. 

Asami takes a step back, and I follow. “Then we have nothing further to discuss.”

Kuvira’s right hand moves from her waist to her revolver’s grip. Her fingers curl around it and she squeezes like she did my hand. “Just one more thing, Sato. You’re used to getting your way around here. To always winning. To people cowering at your name. They whisper some shit about spirits and shadows, and hide under their sheets like children. People have told me all about that. Well, let me tell you something: I don’t believe your myths. I’m not a child, and I’m not afraid. Not of a prissy non-bender. Now, I’m the scariest motherfucker in Republic City.”

Asami turns and walks away, offering only a shrug. “Take the title, then, if you want it so bad. I’ve already got the only name I need.”

As she walks, there is still nothing like fear in Asami’s eyes. There is recognition, though, something like a grudging respect. For me, there’s damn sure fear. A whole heaping ton of it.

\----- 

Asami isn’t saying a thing as we walk back to the car, and neither am I. Both my hands are still balled up tight, I notice, and my shoulders are tense. A fucking escort? 

Well, no. Not an escort. An undercover police officer pretending to be a bodyguard pretending to be an escort. For the first time, there’s a little comfort to be found in the absurdity of my situation. I catch myself laughing a little, and notice that it spreads to Asami.

She smiles. “I bet we really did just interrupt her training, you know. There’s no way that was planned intimidation.” She purses her lips and shakes her head. 

“No,” I say, letting the syllable hang between us. “So, uh, can I ask what exactly this meeting slash dance party is?”

She gets in the car, starts it, and she smiles as the engine comes to life. The satisfaction on her face is plain. She lets her foot down slowly, and the car eases away, then moving faster, faster, until we’re ripping along, pulling the pavement up behind us. 

She drives like this, and I clench anything in the car that seems sturdy, until we’re winding along the roads just outside of town. She allows the car a more humane pace, and it seems like we’re crawling now. I remind myself to breath. 

“You wanted to know about the meeting, yes?”

“I did, yeah. The information might be wasted on me now, though. Pretty sure my brain came out my ears a few kilometers back.”

“We’ll get it on the way back. Anyway, it’s a simple concept. Of course, simple doesn’t mean easy.”

I laugh. Just what I was thinking.

“What?” 

“Nothing.”

“Fair enough. My father and Suyin Beifong have agreed to something of a preemptive truce. Both of our families are wildly successful in our respective fields, and although their expansion into the United Republic has inevitably caused tension, there’s no reason we should tear each other - and by extension, ourselves - apart. We’re each too big, frankly, for a war to be profitable. This meeting - somewhat hidden under the guise of a small, intimate party - will be where the respective heads of family officially agree to terms.”

“Doesn’t that seem a bit like the Last Da-”

She slows down, gradually easing the car over to the shoulder, where she parks. It sits idle, the only sound the rumble of the V12. 

Asami turns, and looks at me. Her eyes are not daggers, but somehow more threatening. They’re a pit you could fall into and never climb out of. 

“Blue, I’m not going to shoot you. Not this time. But you ask about that again, and I swear I will. No last words, not even another warning. You say those words ever again, and I will kill you.”

She turns her attention back to the car, the road. I’m at the bottom of that pit now, as we begin driving back towards town. She doesn’t say a thing about the car, or anything else. 

Not until we pull into the parking lot at Sharks. 

She smiles, like she didn’t just outline the terms under which she’d kill me. “The meeting is tomorrow, by the way. Short notice leaves less time for word to get around, and we do not want word getting around. A lot of important people in one place. A lot of people would like to know about that. Which is why - or part of the reason why - you’re coming. The place we’re going - and I can’t tell you what it’s called, sorry - has a very prominent fountain in the middle of the dance floor. If everything goes to shit, please try to keep me alive.”

I just nod, thinking maybe I should make the same request of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bullet bending Kuvira is a thing I needed to write about. And it's not even close to the most badass thing she's going to do in the next few chapters. As for her calling herself a motherfucker? Have fun with that, Suvira shippers.
> 
> Also, this is now as many chapters, and almost as many words as Love Will Tear us Apart Again. And I'm honestly like... 20% done? At the absolute most? Just so you know, this is going to be absurdly long.


	10. Chapter 10

This morning, I don’t have any trouble waking up early. It’s hard to have that specific kind of trouble when you couldn’t fall asleep in the first place. All night, laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, like there are answers written there. But damn, I don’t even know what questions I should be asking. 

Is Asami going to kill me? That’s always a good one. And a pretty big concern to me, these days.

And where are we going? That’d be nice to know. If she’s not intent on killing me, maybe someone is. It’d be nice to know where I'm set to go out. If I do get snuffed, I’d like to have nice scenery, at least. I do know there’s a fountain there, which is something. Nice to look at, typically, and useful when it comes to keeping myself alive. 

Which brings me to: What’s going to happen when we do get there? Wherever that is. Talking? Dancing? That’s enough to make me anxious. Nevermind the promise of dancing with bullets. I saw Kuvira do it - somehow - but that’s not a skill I have.

If things do go to shit, and the bullets do fly, how exactly am I supposed to deal? There’s the fountain, which is, again, something. And I’ll have a gun too, of course. Maybe that’ll be enough to keep me alive - though I’m pretty far from sure. But that’s not my job. My job is to keep Asami alive. Of course, she seems pretty good at keeping herself alive. At least, she doesn’t seem too worried about the prospect. So maybe I shouldn’t be either.

Still… Kuvira. Asami didn’t look afraid of her, exactly. But the look she gave her was loaded with something. Not fear, but not nothing. Like she was looking in a distorted mirror, and looking back at a false version of herself. There was recognition there. Of something. Me, on the other hand… Kuvira put a big, rotting lump of fear deep inside me. 

I can’t say why, exactly. It isn’t just the bullet bending - though that was a damn thing to see. It’s something I can’t name, because I don’t know. Not yet. Not sure I want to find out, either.

Still, what knowledge I’ve got isn’t totally useless. Chief Beifong mentioned something to me, back when we first spoke, about what she called 'escalating tensions' between the Satos and Beifongs. 

Well, maybe that’s over before it begins. Before the tensions become become something much more real, something much more bloody.

And shit, maybe that was the whole reason I got this job in the first place. Maybe that’s the reason they put me on a boat - or asked me on a boat; I was pretty damn happy to put myself on it - to begin with. 

Well, Chief, it’s been fun. Lovely meeting you. But there’s everlasting peace in Republic City now, so feel free to clean up that little legal mess you made for me, clear up my name, and send me home. If you can tell the papers something about how I fixed it all myself, that’d be great.

And hey, Asami, I’m actually moving back home now. That’s both good news and bad news. We’ll do the bad news first. It seems that, unfortunately, I’ve found myself out of work. I figure I’ll pick something up soon enough though. Maybe I’ll just hop right back in with the force. Could be fun, just being a regular cop again. Which, oops, I guess you didn’t know that to begin with. Oh well. Anyway, the good news is also that I’m out of work. Because-

I’m interrupted by her mouth on mine. Her red lips, full and sweet as ripe berries, are eager, hungry, and her tongue slides into my mouth. Her hands push under my shirt, and her fingers dig into the muscles of my back. 

She pulls herself free for a moment, letting out a gasp, and a slight moan. She kisses my neck, my cheek, my ear, then stops. “Fuck me, Blue,” she whispers. I-

“Korra? You up?” Fuck, Mako. Just, fuck.

I pull my hands up from under the bedsheets, and flip my pillow over my face. It muffles the string of profanity I let out.

“Korra… is something the matter?”

No, Mako. Nothing is the matter. In fact, everything is fucking perfect. I move the pillow, and breath. 

“I’m fine. Just… frustrated. Very, very frustrated.”

“Is it… Asami related?”

My mind starts to wander and my hands start to wander, until I wrangle both. “You could say that.”

“Listen, if you want to talk about it. Whatever’s on your mind-”

“I do not want to talk about it.”

“It’s really ok. Whatever it is, I wouldn’t mind hearing it.”

I shake my head. “No, Mako. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind. At all.”

Silence is the answer from the other side of my door. I can sense him biting at his lip, rocking on his heels.

“Korra… what are we talking about?

I just groan. It’s the most articulate thing I can manage. I try and hold the frustration back, and replace it with resignation. Not ideal, but the best I can manage at the moment.

“It’s nothing. Really. Just… what did you need?”

“I have something for you. At least, I assume it’s for you. Random drivers don’t come at the crack of dawn to deliver dresses to me.”

Probably for the best, I decide. Not sure he could pull it off.

“Just leave it by my door. I’ll be up in a minute.”

I hear a hanger clink up against the doorknob, and wait until I hear Mako’s footsteps thump up the staircase. 

I swing myself out of bed, sigh, and go see what I’ve got this time. Getting random dresses delivered to me is a new thing, and I’m not quite sure how to react. 

Blue. It’s blue. Because of course it is. And blue, because I’m Blue. At least, that’s who the attached note - which was thankfully still in a sealed envelope - is addressed to.

"Blue: You were no less than stunning in the last dress I saw you wearing. Or rather, the last dress I saw dripping off of you. Still, as much as I would enjoy a second viewing, there are certain things Satos - and by extension, people associated with them - do not do. We do not - and thus, you do not - wear a dress twice. It’s regrettable, when a dress suits a person as well as that one did you. But rules are rules. And the rules of fashion are strict things. You will notice this offering has a slit up the right leg as well; I apologize for that redundant aspect, but in this, I must give way to utility. Because, redundant or not, the slit gives ready access to certain items which could prove useful on an evening such as this." 

There’s no signature, but then I don’t need one. I’m as sure of who wrote it as if I’d seen her writing the note. 

I wonder how she got this dress so quick. Shops are always open for Asami Sato, I guess. And maybe she has a private tailor, to fit it to my measurements. 

Of course, maybe she just had this lying around. A girl like her probably has enough clothes for everyone in the Earth Kingdom. Assuming they like red. 

I remember something Chief said about a “Water Tribe weakness”. Maybe that’s why she had this lying around? Maybe it’s… left over. Maybe she keeps blue dresses to flatter an endless string of Water Tribe girls who look like me, and are right about my size. Maybe I’m her type. Maybe I’m just that, and nothing else. 

The note is crumpled in my hand, and I toss it at the trashcan in the corner. It doesn’t come close, and I just leave it. Stupid. 

I drop the dress on my bed, figuring I can take a look at it later. For now, I get dressed in my usual. For work. Chief - and her damn line about “Water Tribe weakness” - should probably know what I’m getting up to. 

\-----

The second time through the repurposed corridor behind my closet feels somehow - impossibly - routine. Like walking the halls in the station, back down south. 

Feels like work, and that’s a comfortable feeling. And that’s right enough, because this is work. I don’t know a fraction of what that work is or implies; but I do know I’m working, what I’m doing now, and so I cling onto that, with a little too much desperation.

Of course, most work doesn’t involve crawling through a secret underground tunnel to knock on a secret door to talk to your secret boss in her secret basement. Or maybe people know she has a basement? Not like you could hide a door like that from visitors, though. Of course, Chief doesn’t seem the type to entertain a lot of company. 

Regardless, this job is that sort of job. It’s exactly that job. The door sounds a heavy, dull thud, like a broken bell. In half a second, the handle is turning and the door is opening. 

Chief is at the table, staring at one piece of paper in a sea of them. She doesn’t look up, so I shut the door. I see her hand extend, twist, and I turn to see a key, set already in the lock, do the same thing.

“I didn’t know you could-”

“Of course you didn’t. In general, the less about me you know, the better it is for you. And for me. Mostly for me. But I didn’t want to lose my spot. And no, don’t ask me what I’m reading. I won’t tell you.”

She’s silent, eyes scanning… something important, probably. I stand idly, not figuring she’s the type to welcome sitting, when and where you weren’t asked. 

Finished, apparently, she looks up. “Done. Or at least done enough. For now. Sit.”

I do. “Working on a Saturday morning?”

“You’re here, which means you’re working on a Saturday morning as well. Pots and kettles, Korra. And anyway, some of us have jobs that extend beyond seducing As-”

“I didn’t seduce her.”

“Ok, have it your way. Some of us have jobs that extend beyond being seduced by As-”

“Chief.”

She grins. “Was that a denial? Didn’t sound like it.”

It wasn’t. And I’m not voicing one. I get the feeling any lie I could voice would be as clear as glass to Chief, anyway. 

“Hey, it’s fine.” she says. “I hope she at least liked the dress. Sent one of my most fashionable officers to pick it out. Said ‘classy escort’ was her inspiration.”

That damn word again. I want to dive under the table, but instead I just hope my cheeks are too dark to show the red building in them. Chief’s face would suggest that I’m not so lucky.

“So she did like the dress? Good. Anyway, I assume you were told not to bother me unless it’s for something really important. So. Wow me.” 

She places her hands, palms up, on the table. Ready to receive my best. 

“Well,” I start. “It turns out I’m working Saturday night too. Asami decided to take me on as a… bodyguard, I guess. I’m going with her to a… thing… tonight.”

Chief tilts her head. “A thing?”

“A big thing.”

“How big? I’m a cop. I like evidence, not vague teasing.”

“Maybe big enough to send me home. Maybe big enough to promote me. Maybe big enough to kill me. Don’t know. All I do know is that Hiroshi and Asami Sato are taking some of their most important officers to meet their opposite numbers on the Beifong side. To negotiate some sort of peace agreement. Don’t know where. Sorry.”

That is a big thing, apparently. Big enough that Chief is silent for a minute, just rubbing her chin. 

“And how do you know about this?”

“Well, I went with Asami to confirm the Satos’ attendance. She spoke to Kuvira-”

“So she is here.” 

Chief leans back in her chair, and aims a quiet but emphatic “fuck” at the ceiling.

I see the image of that woman - Kuvira, though I hardly want to think the name - in my mind. A tight package of grace and brute force, dodging bullets. Or making them dodge her. I don’t know which is more impressive, or which is more impossible. But I damn sure know that she’s impressive, and she’s impossible. I hear her and Asami trade words and looks, all of it dripping with threat and suggestion. 

I just nod. 

“Well,” says Chief, slapping her palms on the table. “We better hope this… big thing goes well.” She pauses. “You ever see any of those monster versus monster movers, Korra?”

We had a decent enough theater back home. Pretty new, actually. I nod. 

“Yeah. I always liked the ones about detectives-

Chief puts her hands up. “Not important. So, you’ve seen those movies. The ones where you take one massive monster, and have it fight another one. Good.”

I nod again, if only to see where she’s going with this.

She makes one fist. “This is the Sato monster.” She makes another. “This is the Beifong monster.” She smashes them together, her knuckles cracking on impact. I flinch. She doesn’t.

“Now tell me, you put Republic City in the middle of that collision, and what happens?”

I don’t need to say “Then Republic City gets fucked”, but I do anyway. 

“Exactly,” says Chief, putting her hands back on the table. Her knuckles aren’t even red.

I wait a moment to be dismissed, then another to receive further instructions. When neither arrive, I push myself away from the table, and make to leave.

“Wait a second, Blue,” says Chief.

I pause, and turn. 

She smiles. “Yeah, Mako mentioned her calling you that. Pet names already. It’s cute. It’s also gross, and possibly very dangerous. Probably very dangerous.”

I’m Blue, but right now I’m red as can be. No hiding that. Not with the sort of full mask we wear back home, when it gets really cold.

“Anyway, Blue, it’s starting to look like you might actually have been worth the cost of the boat ride over. Good work.”

That’s about the best endorsement I expect from Chief, so I just say thanks.

She waves a hand in front of her face, making like she’s swatting my thanks away. Like it’s an annoying bug.

“I don’t need you to be grateful; I need you to be careful. If this goes well, it could be the best thing to happen to this city in a decade. Which means it probably isn’t going to go well. This is Republic City; good things don’t happen here. So, in the incredibly likely event that it starts raining bullets, try to stay dry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh. Wonder why Korra was reaching for her gun in bed. That doesn't seem safe, does it?
> 
> Also, I finished my plot outline today. So, ten chapters in, and I finally know how this all ends. Gumdrops and rainbows the whole way, I swear.


	11. Chapter 11

My second new dress of the week is in some ways very similar to the first one. To my eye, ‘some ways’ means ‘most ways’. It’s blue. But this time, it’s just blue. No black accent. And it closes at the top differently; the fabric goes halfway up my neck, before the right side folds over, leaving just a hint of an opening. But it’s blue. No sleeves. And there’s still a slit up the right leg, allowing access to hidden firearms. 

I can’t help but laugh at that. Everyone attending this… whatever… is going to be armed. And if they’re not, they’re going to be a weapon themselves. But still. Propriety, I guess. And I don’t want to be a rude guest. So I hide the gun - the same one that Asami drew on me, that first night. The same one she pointed right in between my eyes. Although the gun is holstered, and back in my possession, I’ve never been able to shake the feeling that it’s still aimed at that same spot.

I wonder whether I should pack a skin, flask, or vial of water, then decide against any of the three. Asami said that there’s a fountain there, and I barely have room to poorly hide the gun. And if Asami said it, I believe it. Not that she strikes me as entirely honest, so much as she strikes me as the type to know what sort of fight she’s getting into, before anyone else even knows it’s a fight. 

“You ready, Blue?” Asami. Outside my door. Again. Yes, I’m ready. But no, I’m really not. Am I dressed? Is that what you’re asking? Because I am. Am I ready to save you from… things? Maybe not. From Kuvira? Fuck no. 

I’m briefly amused that Asami Sato is standing a few feet from a door that would lead her to Chief Beifong’s basement. I’d watch that meeting. I resolve that she probably shouldn’t be invited into my room, not ever, but damn that’s a disappointing resolution. 

“Dressed,” I say. I’m not feeling like lying tonight. 

\-----

Asami’s dress, to my eye, matches mine tonight. At least a little. It’s the same shape, but of course, isn’t blue. It’s a warm, heavy red, patterned with a darker color, like it’s laced with brick. I can’t figure out the pattern, exactly, and I figure I should stop looking, before it looks like I’m staring-

“Blue.” Too late. “Put these on,” says Asami, handing me a pair of heavy goggles. 

My face twists into the shape of a question, but I don’t ask, instead just putting the goggles on. They’re blacked out. Totally. I’m blind. 

“Asami, I wasn’t… I mean… I was looking at the dress and… I don’t mean to… You don’t need to-”

I feel a finger on my lips. Her finger, on my lips. 

“This is business. You don’t get to see where we’re going. But, for the record, I don’t mind you staring.”

Her finger lingers, so I don’t respond. I feel her guide me to her car, then into it. The engine comes to life, and then we’re moving. Somewhere. The top is down, and Asami is letting it rip. I’m sort of glad I can’t see.

\-----

Wherever we go, it isn’t close. We’ve been driving already for… a half an hour? Close enough. Asami has spent that entire time talking about the car. She’s still talking about the car. 

“Asami, can I ask you something? Work related?”

“Hmm? Oh, that. Sure.”

“If we go, and things go well… I have an easy job. Aside from the dancing, but we’ll deal with that problem later. But if things don’t go well… it’d be nice to know what we’re up against. And what we have on our side.”

I can’t see her smile, but I imagine she does. I feel a hand on my shoulder. Her hand, on my shoulder.

“You mean you’d actually like to know with and against whom you’re fighting, ahead of time? Even though fighting is certainly not a promised thing? Why, you’re a woman after my own heart, Blue. You’ve got a brain. And survival instincts.” She squeezes, then lets her hand run the length of my arm. “It really is a shame, though, about this… If you had even a half decent body, you’d be quite the catch.”

I can’t see her smiling, but now I’m damn sure she is. And I am, too. Maybe I don’t have much faith in my dancing. But in my arms? There, I know what I’ve got. 

“When I arrived, Mako - that is his name, right? - said you were busy doing pushups, last he saw. Trying to impress someone?”

“I do one hundred pushups, twice a day, everyday. Have done for years. Sorry, Asami, but that’s not for you.”

“Good. The last thing I need is another beautiful woman doing things for me, giving things to me, et cetera.” She groans. “It really is exhausting.”

I’m silent, because I don’t think it would be a good idea to vocalize a jealous fit. Though maybe, as her bodyguard, I should be vetting these girls? Pretty sure none would pass. Pretty sure that’d be ok with me.

“Blue, you’re flexing.”

I am. I stop. “Just… tense. About the job. You were saying, about that…”

“Oh, yes. Right. Sorry about that. I was… distracted. You understand.”

I think I do. I hope I do. 

“In any case, we will be outdoors. A house on one side, dense foliage and trees on the other three. The families have agreed to set a perimeter, alternating guards the entire way. Twenty five each. They will be armed, all of them, with Sato Submachine guns. Yes, that is a little ironic. But Future Industries is happy to take Beifong money. Any money, really. Our guards - with three firebending exceptions - are not benders. I should say, this isn’t any sort of bias or bigotry. It’s just that, even with their influence diminished, the Triads do attract benders a little more readily than we seem to. Firebenders, of course, do not have such a gang… anymore…”

Asami is silent. I feel her hand leave me. She doesn’t speak the rest of the way, and I don’t ask her to.

\-----

When we stop, Asami takes my hand, and leads me… somewhere. We walk on gravel, then brick, then grass. She stops, removes the goggles for me. I pause for a moment to blink, adjust to my restored vision.

“You ok?” asks Asami.

I pause for a moment, trying to see in her eyes if this is concern, or she just wants to make sure her bodyguard can shoot straight. It’s a stupid thing to wonder, so I just nod. 

She smiles some kind of smile - I can’t tell which - and says “Good”. She takes my hand, and now she isn’t leading me exactly, so much as guiding me. I think there's a difference.

I take a moment to look around. There is a fountain, I find that first. It’s a big, ugly, ornate thing, depicting some hero of past ages waterbending a giant sea serpent into a swirling maelstrom. I think I remember hearing that story, when I was younger. The serpent gets out, eventually, when the hero is distracted by a woman. Then the serpent devours the entire world. Not really a happy ending to that story, but that’s fine enough, I suppose, because life doesn’t usually work that way. 

Around the perimeter are guards, armed as Asami said they would be. Some on the roof of the house itself, even. And the house. What a fucking house. What a fucking mansion. Three floors, pillars, shiny stone… just, a lot of stuff. I struggle to find the words, but they aren’t anywhere inside my head, so far as I can tell. I just keep thinking “fuck”, and that’s not really an architectural term. I know that.

There are people mingling about, of course. People I don’t know, an endless parade of-

“Bolin?”

“Korra?”

He’s with that girl from earlier. Dressed in green, eyes of green, bangs drawing a line right above them. She looks at Asami, and she’s thinking something along the lines of-

“Pleasure to meet you,” she says, extending her hand. “My name is Opal. Opal Beifong. You must be Asami Sato. I’ve heard, so, so much about you.”

Asami takes her hand, shakes it, and bows her head slightly.

“Opal. Yes, I know of you. The eyes do match the name, I have to say. And who, if I may inquire, is this fellow accompanying you?”

“Oh, this is Bolin. My… guest, tonight. “And…” she gestures at me.

“This is Korra. My guest. Korra-” she laughs. “And Bolin? Mako's brother, right? He mentioned you. Well that means... well, I’d introduce Korra and Bolin, but, well, Korra and Bolin actually live together. I’m sure they’re well acquainted.”

Opals eyes narrow, and she turns to Bolin. “He… must have forgotten to mention that.”

Bolin squirms, rubs the back of his head. “Well… I mean… I’ve just been really busy lately. You know? With things. And stuff. And… yeah. It must’ve slipped my mind.”

Opal turns back towards Asami, and bows her head deeper. “A pleasure meeting you, Miss Sato. And you… Korra. But I really do have to go speak with my mother, about something.”

She twists away quickly, and walks towards the main crowd. Bolin shrugs, glances back and forth between myself and Asami. He opens his mouth, closes it without uttering a word, and follows after her.

“Well that was… lovely,” says Asami. “Care to dance?”

I’d care to do a lot of things instead, but I figure I can manage. And I figure, maybe that I can get close to Asami, close enough to-

“Just pretend we’re fighting. It’s not really so different. And remember, that’s how my men noticed you in the first place. They said you danced through the crowd, chasing down that would be pickpocketer. You know how to use your body. Now use it.”

She pulls me towards the floor, a wide tile platform, surrounded on all sides my perfectly manicured grass. Right at the center of the tile is that fountain, so I look there, trying to take some comfort from the presence of water. Trying to ignore the awkward mess of jangled legs.

Just… flow, Korra. Be like water. I smile. Maybe… Blue? Just flow, Blue? I squeeze Asami’s hand, ready to fight, ready to flow.


	12. Chapter 12

Thinking on it, for all I’ve heard of the terror that is Asami Sato, I’ve not yet seen her fight. She pulled a gun on me that first meeting, and maybe that counts, but I’m not quite willing to give that round to her. She stacked the deck, designed everything so that she would win. Because Asami Sato always wins. Wait, sorry. Because Asami fucking Sato always wins. 

Of course, maybe that’s the entire point. In a fair fight, even the worst fighter in the world can land a lucky shot. A dumb fist can make a compelling argument, every once in a blue moon. And when it does, all the beauty, grace, and genius in the world won’t keep you upright. So Asami Sato rigs the game. Because in this game, you don’t get knocked down, don’t then get a standing eight count. You get killed. Simple as that. And won’t anybody feel sorry, if you’re dumb enough to let it happen.

I wonder, then, how Asami rigged this game. This fight, as she called it. This mess of bodies, swarming, jabbing, kicking. They call it dancing, but we don’t have anything like this down South. It’s a torrent. Like a rainstorm on a windy day. And that would be one thing. As a waterbender, a rainstorm’s not the worst thing that can happen to me. But I don’t know that anyone can bend dancing like it's some elemental thing.

Though maybe Asami can. I wouldn’t deny it. Her moves are things I can’t name, but which feel utterly familiar, like the human body was put together to do exactly what she’s doing. Why wouldn’t someone move like that? To do otherwise would be to squander this joint, that muscle, everything. But it’s not about those things specifically. Not about the individual parts with her, but the whole. Everything moves separately, but it comes together and… it’s just the damndest thing. 

Still, Asami told me to treat dancing like fighting. And I told myself I would. That I was Blue, confident and mysterious bodyguard to the strongest woman in Republic City. People whisper of her, asking who could be deadly enough to protect the Red Raven? She wouldn’t give a damn about the eyes of random guests cast upon her, or any idea of what’s supposed to be done with this tune or that. Just flow, Blue. Just flow. 

And so she does. And so I do. I let the music move me, and it’s all beginning to make sense. Asami slips her hand around my waist, and I listen to her movements as well as the music. It slower now, something to burn you up inside, either with dreams of passion or nightmares of passion lost. I let the music move me, and I let Asami move me. 

She’s close, pressed up against me. I can feel her breath, feel her heart beat. My hands are on her hips, and then her back. Just placed at first, then applying more pressure. Slowly, my fingers find purchase, and I feel her body yield. I close my eyes, and inhale, drinking in the experience of her. My lips are near, so near to her shoulder. Her skin is right there. It would be the easiest thing to brush them there… just an accident. Just a little nothing. Just-

Something I can't do.

I look up, open my eyes, and see Kuvira dancing in much the same fashion, with a man I don’t know. She had mentioned being engaged. Presumably, by the way they’re dancing, this is that guy. Though if Kuvira wanted to step out, I’m not sure there’s a man anywhere that would tell her no. And I’m certain there isn’t one that could enforce the mandate. Still, the way they’re moving would suggest - if this is the ‘lucky’ man - that there’s no stepping out being done, and none desired. 

It’s disconcerting, almost, to see Kuvira like this. Eyes closed, held close. She looks vulnerable. I feel like I’m walking in on something intimate, like I should be anywhere else in the world. I’d almost feel more comfortable if she would dance with bullets instead. And she is brazenly wearing her revolver around her waist, outside of her dress. It's an interesting choice. Reminded of what she can do with bullets, I decide this is better.

The song ends, and my fingers surrender the smallest amount of pressure I can manage. I don’t want to seem desperate. Not like I’m clinging on. But I really do want to touch her. She holds on as well, and I feel her heart beating strong, beating fast. 

“Hey Blue,” she whispers.

And then the trumpet sounds again, signalling the start of the next song. It’s something I haven’t heard before, which is no surprise, since I haven’t recognized anything tonight. But it triggers something in Asami. The muscles of her back clench, so tight that my fingers almost feel trapped. Her heart, already beating fast, is now racing. Her lungs expand, and then her stomach heaves. I feel her breath, hot and fast, on my shoulder. My shoulder, where she’s now laying her head.

I’m stunned into inaction for too long. Just a second, but a second too long. She’s mine tonight, mine to protect, whether from bullets or… whatever anxiety this is. I keep my arm around her waist as I turn, walking with her away from the house, towards the trees. We walk until we can’t hear the music anymore, and it’s just a shadow of a memory. Still, that shadow lays heavy on Asami’s face.

Slowly, her breath does came back. She stands back to her normal height, adjusts her dress, and herself. 

“Thanks,” she says, not meeting my eyes. 

Even if she did, I’m not sure I’d recognize them. I’m not sure I recognize her, right now. This is Asami Sato - Asami fucking Sato - soul devouring, blood spilling, gang obliterating terror. Brought to a quivering mess by the first wail of a trumpet.

“It’s ok,” I say, pulling her in close again.

She pushes me away, and does meet my eyes. There is fear there. So much more than I’d have ever guessed could be found within her. 

“It’s ok,” I say again. But I don’t know. Can’t know. 

“It is not. It is not fucking ok, Blue. I haven’t heard that song in five fucking years. No one plays it, not since-”

“That song?” Kuvira. “I once knew a woman who would hum that tune in the middle of a gunfight. And here you are, laid low by it. But then, you could never be her equal, running away from-”

I’m right up against Kuvira then, as close as I ever got to Asami. I don’t know why, or what I could possibly do. I realize, maybe too late, that this is a bad decision. But I also realize that I’m not moving, not unless she moves me.

She just laughs. “Heel your bitch, Sato.”

Asami doesn’t move, doesn’t speak.

I put my hand on Kuvira’s shoulder, make to push her back-

I don’t know how, but I’m face first in the grass, and the back of my head hurts like nothing else. My wrist might be broken, but I don’t think so. I’ll need to get feeling in it again before I can tell for sure.

She laughs. “I didn’t pay you, so you don’t have to touch me. You don’t get to, either. Now crawl away, relevant people need to speak.”

“No,” says Asami. It isn’t loud, and not declarative. But something of her authority is back in it. “She’s staying. We were just… talking about something. It’s a conversation you’re not privy to. So kindly fuck off.”

I regain my feet, and try to shake the pounding feeling from my head. It doesn’t work, but I stand next to Asami anyway. I don’t think I can protect her from Kuvira’s words, and I know I can’t protect her from Kuvira’s… whatever that maneuver was. But I can be here, and so that’s what I do. Not much, but not nothing. 

Kuvira shrugs. “You’re a waste of time, Sato.” She turns to walk away, but manages only a single step, before turning back. She doesn’t seem to notice that I’m there. If she does, she certainly doesn’t care. She only has eyes for Asami, and her eyes are burning. With threat, intent, and something much deeper and darker than those. 

“That song…”

We don’t hear the first gunshot. We don’t hear the second, third or however many follow right after, either. But we hear the screams. 

Maybe because we’re too far away. But probably, I’d guess, it’s because they’re - whoever they are - using airbender rifles. Those things are little more than metal tubes, but give one to a talented airbender - if you can find a talented airbender - and they can generate enough force to put a bullet right through a skull. With a suppressor added to the tube - which mostly cancels out the ‘pop’ you’d otherwise get - the lack of mechanical work and explosion makes for a silent, mostly soundless shot. You don’t know where it came from; you just know that you’re hit. 

If they are airbenders, and they’re that good, then they’d probably be…

I turn, look up and back. Metal tubes, extended from near the tops of the trees. The rifles are are pointed down. Right at Asami. I move in front of her, and there’s nothing. No sound, no flash. No burning.

Just Kuvira. In front of me. In front of Asami. Flinging the bullets around us, tearing the rifles apart, and then drawing her revolver. She fires into the trees with her right hand, bending bullets into the exposed chamber with her left. Bodies fall all around us. Most are dead already, holes the size of a melon in their chest. But four gunmen do land, feet first, on either side of us. As they draw handguns and fire, Kuvira’s hands move again. Four bullets find four matching skulls. 

Kuvira turns, and looks back towards the dance floor. My gaze follows hers. Chief’s forecast was right; it is raining bullets. 

A crack, and the air beside my ear splits apart. Once, twice, three times. I turn, and see three bodies fall behind Kuvira. Asami’s arm is extended, and I follow it to the end, where there’s a smoking gun. 

She smiles. And her eyes are hers again. “Thanks, Kuvira. And you’re welcome.”

Kuvira nods. But her eyes are still focused on the chaos in the yard. Rocks, fire, dirt, bullets, everywhere. Guns in the trees, guns on the ground. The guards are firing everywhere and nowhere. Chief’s forecast did miss one thing, though: It’s not just raining bullets, it’s raining blood. 

Without discussion, we are all agreed, and set off at a mad dash towards the fray. 

Through strained breath, Kuvira mutters, "I hope your bitch can hunt, Sato."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kuvira's got the cheat codes on, guys, and I love it. 
> 
> Also, there's like, so much plot in this chapter. I swore to you things would happen, and here they are! Things!


	13. Chapter 13

The grass is cut short, and it's soft under my feet. Yielding, as I show a clean pair of heels. We're running, screaming towards the fight. Asami, me, and Kuvira.

Kuvira, who even when she wants my help, calls me a bitch. But I don't mind. Not really. I've been called worse, and by people I liked a whole lot better than her. So she can say what she wants. I don't care. And anyway, it's not like I could shut her up, even if I did mind.

Hey, Kuvira, you call me a bitch again, and I'll... well, I'll have Asami deal with you. Maybe. I assume she could. I hope she could. Bit of a role reversal, her protecting me, but I wouldn't mind. She, on the other hand... I'm not sure she'd go for it. But I'm not completely sure that she wouldn't, either.

Kuvira had told me crawl away, dismissed me as you would... well, a bitch. Asami had told her I was staying, and that she could fuck off. That's a lot of things - a lot of very heavy, implicating things - but subtle isn't one of them.

Of course, this isn't a time for subtlety, so that feels right enough. Not with death flying every which way, looking for any perch it can find. Probably, this isn't the time to think about Asami... at least, not about whether she would or wouldn't fight Kuvira on my behalf. It's a childish concern at any time, and this really is the worst possible time. The only thing I need to concern myself with, regarding Asami, is whether she still has a pulse, and making sure the answer stays affirmative. But beyond that, this probably isn't a time to think, period.

Instead, it's a time to fight. A time to dance. And as the bullets whistle by, I can't help but think that I know this tune, and I know just the right steps.

The fountain is there, a tale of a forever ago battle, but also ammunition for me, in this modern one. I cover the trees with with a thick layer of ice; the branches hang low with the added weight, and grow slick. I cascade as much water as I can handle - and I can handle quite a bit - over the trees then, and there are shouts, followed by thuds, crunches, and finally, screams. It's hard to break your leg quietly. With noisy, grounded targets, the guards know exactly where to fire. And they do. The Sato Specials sing out their rapid call, and damn, it is fast. Fifteen hundred rounds a minute, Mako had said. At least I think so. It sounded impossible then, but now, it just sounds like death. And anyway, I can't count fast enough to keep up. I just know that the staccato song has turned into one singe voice, like one gun firing forever, so I figure Mako knows what he's talking about.

Whoever these attackers are - and it's an open question, to me; they don't seem to be wearing typical color coded Triad gear - they're not just airbenders, and not just hiding in the trees. Not even mostly airbenders, apparently, because there's bullet fire coming our way again - the kind you can really see and hear - and bodies emerging from out of the trees, doing the firing. With them are benders of each element. Although there aren't many - finding a good bender is hard, these days - it's hard to miss their work.

I start to count, but it's dark, and hard to focus. Doesn't matter anyway, I figure. It'll be easier to count the bodies when they're cold.

Right now, though, everything is hot. Scorching. Burning. I see Bolin flinging stones, raising earth, safeguarding himself and Opal. Opal, who is beside him, firing an airbender rifle.

Opal, firing an airbender rifle? Bolin, piloting earth? I was worried, before, about him. And about Opal too, if only for his sake. Seeing them now, though, that seems like wasted effort.

And wasted effort, at a time like this, is akin to wasting noodles back South. There are some things you just don't do. So I focus my effort right where it belongs, in the expanse just inside the treeline, where the fighting is heaviest. I fling a sheet of water at the charging mass of anonymous gunmen, hoping to dampen their powder. It'll dampen their spirits too, once they realized it. Dampen them, right before they get snuffed out for good.

Asami and Kuvira are snuffing out their fair share. More than, really. They're hording the fight, making it their own, writing their names on it in blood. They're dancing, and it's a show for Republic City's biggest stage, and brightest lights. Dancing, like stars from the movers. The kind who have done a hundred pictures together, so many that their names are never said without the other. They're everywhere and nowhere, until they stop, finally, right near the treeline. Just short of where I flung the water, they find too many men with soggy guns, and too few benders to mount any other type of attack. They're an impenetrable two woman fortification.

Asami drops her handgun, and picks up a Sato Special from someone who won't be needing it anymore. The grass - which is dry, thankfully, right where they stopped - has a full stock. Enough army to kill an army, and Asami sets to doing just that. She fires, straight ahead, back and forth, spraying bullets with calculating eyes. I can see her figuring the angles, the trajectory, the most efficient path of fire. Kuvira is crouched in front of her, raising a mound of dirt as cover for the fire, the rocks, the water, and the bullets. She's bending away those that make it past. When she catches a moment, she bends the guns themselves. When the timing is right - which it is, every time - the gun explodes in the very hands that just pulled the trigger. When Asami hits empty - which happens pretty damn quick - Kuvira ejects and replaces the spent clip with a flick of her wrist, bending from the generous selection. She finds one extra cartridge as well, hidden in Asami's thigh holster... Her hand doesn't actually grab it, of course, but even still... I wonder what that feels like, if anything. Is it like her fingers are there, reaching? Can she feel-

Branches crack. Six airbenders, broken rifles held like perverted spears, are flying towards Kuvira and Asami. Asami, whose back is turned. Asami, who I'm protecting. Only I'm not there. And I'm not protecting her.

Not yet. But I ask another favor of the fountain, and the water lifts me up, jetting me forward. An opposing waterbender attempts to interfere, but I put a bullet in his eye before his hands can really set to dancing. I divert some of the flow to negate incoming flame, and follow that with two more rounds. A woman falls in grass wet with her own blood. I land half a moment before the airbenders do; and when they land, their feet find a sheet of ice.

I'm braced, ready; they're not. And so they're not upright either, not anymore. It's only a moment of failure, but I extend that moment into an eternity. It's quick work, squeezing my trigger, until the ice runs slick with blood.

I stop firing, and the absence hits me like a wave. I turn, look everywhere. Everywhere, I see fire and death. With one final, exhausted sweep of my arms, the fire is extinguished. Not the death, though. That remains. You can't just wash it away.

Asami extends her hand to Kuvira, and she accepts the offer, allows herself to be helped back to her feet. I want to stand between them again. To push Kuvira back, this time focused, and ready. And it's not like my wrist hurts so bad.

Kuvira smiles, with too much satisfaction. "It's been nearly five years since I had a partner like that..." She raises an eyebrow. There's a question there, in her pause, hanging off the end of the statement. But it's one she's asking herself, and so she doesn't give it voice. 

Asami, of course, doesn't answer it. Or even, it seems, notice. Instead, she turns away from Kuvira, away from their mountain of corpses, and towards the six I created at her back.

Asami steps forward, smiling. Her eyes are hers again. Strong, willful, dangerous. Terrifying, in their way. And beautiful. Of course, beautiful. She lays her hands on my shoulders. "Nice work, Blue."

Kuvira turns as well, examining my red work. She shrugs. "So the bitch can hunt a little."

Asami fires a glare at Kuvira. "She's my bodyguard, not a bitch. Make that mistake again, and you'll have a problem. Don't think you'll like the solution I come up with, either."

Kuvira's eyes don't match Asami's threat. There's no promise of violence there, no threat at all. Instead, there's what I imagine lay behind her closed lids earlier this evening, when she was dancing with her fiancee. She's looking at Asami... but she's looking past her, at someone else.

Her lips move, but her voice is too quiet. In this heavy air, still full of violence, her voice doesn't carry.

I blink, and she's Kuvira again. The Butcher of Ba Sing Se, again. Her hand flashes towards her revolver, but it stops on the grip, just short of drawing.

In Asami's hand, pointed right at Kuvira's mouth, is a gun. A small thing, hidden away for the whole of the firefight. Wouldn't have been much good, anyway. But it's utility, in this specific situation, is made obvious by its luster. The gun is bright and reflective as a cold, still sea under a full moon and all the stars in the sky.

"The bullets match the casing," says Asami. "Now, you're still new to Republic City, so I'm giving you that warning, that one chance. But that's all you get. Don't fuck with me, Kuvira. And don't fuck with my people. I swear, if you call her a bitch again, I'm making you eat that word, and chasing it with a bullet."

Kuvira doesn't try to bend. She knows. Doesn't try to draw, either. She just turns her lip, forcing an acid smile.

"You swear, Asami? That I'll eat a bullet?" She spits. "What good has your word ever been?"

Asami doesn't answer, but doesn't lower the gun, either. She looks quizzical, like Kuvira's just told her the sky is green, and grass is blue, and maybe it all is. Suddenly she can't tell. I step beside Asami, placing my hand on her back. It's tense, tight like before, rigid as when that song-

"Mom!" Opals voice. Her words cut apart the building tension, then stab Kuvira in the chest.

Kuvira grabs my arm, and we're running again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this and the preceding chapter are the first two "fight" scenes I've ever written. Really. Ever. In anything. I mostly write talky scenes, heavy on internal monologue and angst, in which everyone is sad and/or angry about something. And then everything is bleak. Don't worry, I've got plenty of tragedy coming. (Or do worry, I guess.) This is different, obviously. And it's tricky, keeping the blocking right, making sure all the character placements make sense. And then they have to do interesting things. So we get Korra surfing on a wave of her own making, while firing a gun. We get Asami and Kuvira, basically combining to form something that would be outlawed in the Geneva Convention. And let's not forget Asami's swank platinum gun. Which, by the way, no I did not have her magically build one in a day or so. It'll be explained.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, regarding last chapter: The ending is Opal screaming "Mom!", Kuvira hearing it, realizing that Su must be hurt, then grabbing Korra - the waterbender, and thus the potential healer - and taking off. The cutting and stabbing is metaphorical. I do get a bit metaphor heavy sometimes, but I still want things to be understandable, if not exactly clear. Hopefully that part now conveys what I want it too, as I've added a few words. By the way, this chapter is heavily reliant on metaphor. We've only got one narrator, remember, and she's not feeling too good at the moment.
> 
> Also, I had made Bolin a firebender, for reasons that were going to matter, but were really messy and convoluted. And ultimately something this story doesn't need. So those things no longer matter, which means he's an earthbender now, as in canon. In story, it won't really make a bit of difference, besides flavor. But still. The previous chapter reflects the change. 
> 
> While I'm on the topic of these sorts of edits, which are inherent to the process of posting fan fiction, one chapter at a time, usually with no external editing beforehand... One of my favorite authors has a blog post about the sheer grind editing a novel can be (http://www.kameronhurley.com/so-you-think-you-finished-a-novel/), and while that's obviously a very different beast, I think it is instructive. I also think it's helpful for myself, and my fellow fan fic writers (including people who haven't posted yet, but would like to), to realize that this is hard, sometimes, and that's ok. It's hard for Hugo winning authors as well. I'd also add that, since your presence here indicates that you might be interested in such things, her books provide some of the most fully realized female characters in "genre" fiction. She's specifically got a sci fi/noir series with a great lead female, and an epic fantasy without binary gender distinctions or heteronormativity. Pretty cool. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you don't mind my sharing. I think it adds to the discussion.

The grass is cut short, and it’s soft under my feet. Just like last time I was running with Kuvira. But now it’s wet. Maybe it’s dew. It’s late, and there’s moisture in the air. That could be it. But no, it couldn’t be. Because the dirt is yielding too, in places. The mud pops and squishes as I try to keep up with Kuvira, her hand a vice around my arm. I look down, and my ankles are stained red.

I wonder, idly, how that comes out. Or if it ever does. Are we marked forever? We, who have killed? I saw their eyes as they slipped and fell; and I saw them again as they looked at me. There was terror beyond words, a knowledge that this, this is it. And then the bullets flew. It’s an easy thing, pulling a trigger. So damn easy, a child can do it. Just point, and squeeze. And then they die. The nameless, faceless other, erased.

Only it doesn’t work like that. Not like how I’d imagined. I’d thought, maybe… well, I don’t know what I’d thought. I know what I’d imagined. What I'd dreamed, in my darker moments. That they’d grimace, and grab at their chest, at most? That some would deliver long, verbose monologues before quietly closing their eyes, and rolling over? I’d seen all the movers, every single detective mover our theater ever got. I loved when the bad guys got shot. It looked right, felt right. It was justice.

“You got me, Blue...” And then quiet. Peace, and quiet. That was their line. Only they didn’t say it. None of them did.

I didn’t expect to see that man, grabbing at his own viscera; like if he could just put it back, things would work again. I shot him in the head then, and his skull exploded. He grabbed at that too, like a child trying to piece together a broken vase. After the third shot, he began twitching, and pissed himself. After the fourth, he stopped moving.

There were five more, on that ice. I needed three clips to finish them off, and I used every bullet. It turns out, people don’t just die at first contact. You have to keep shooting, until the lead tears them all apart, and things bleed out. You tear a human to bits, piece by piece, and it’s like your fingers are doing it. Like the bullets are claws, and you’re some monstrous wolfbat from the stories.

I thought I knew this dance. The tune sounded familiar. I knew the steps, had them mastered. I was sure of it. I have every shooting range record back South, so many that they invented new ones for me to show off. I’m the best damn shot they’ve ever seen. Everyone says so, even the oldest of the old timers. People talk about me down at the cafe, because sometimes I’ll do trick shots in public. Or I would, back when I was around. That shot to the waterbender’s eye was pretty impressive. Maybe the people back home would’ve clapped for that. But he just screamed some name. Maybe a wife. Maybe a daughter. I don’t know. And he was trying to hurt me. Trying to kill me, probably. I did what I had to do. Why did he have to yell like that? Why did he have to ruin my first-

I’m on my knees, and they’re red too. Kuvira is screaming at me, trying to pull me to my feet, but I see the blood in the grass, and I’m drowning in it. I vomit until there is nothing left inside of me, until it feel like my stomach is going to come up. I’m clutching at my guts, trying to keep my intestines in place... just like that airbender on the ice…

“Blue. Blue!” Asami. Beside me. What’s she doing, swimming here? It's deep, and so, so red. Doesn’t seem safe. She should get out, get to shore.

Her hands are on my shoulders, and they’re dry. Somehow, but that doesn’t seem right. She’s drenched too. I can see it. There’s blood on her hands that nothing could wash away. And we’re swimming, swimming in red, all wet.

“Blue, hey.” Asami, whispering in my ear. But she should be holding her breath. It isn’t safe to be talking. She’ll drown. “Let’s talk about this. You did your job. You did what you had to do, ok? What anybody else would have done.”

“Oh… just… fuck this. Fuck everything.” Kuvira’s down here too, but I don’t know how. She let go of my arm and I saw her float away. The current’s pretty strong, down here. And I didn’t see her swim back. But here she is, cussing up a storm. She should hold her breath too. Her and Asami both.

Kuvira’s coming at me really fast now, or as fast as she can. We’re in deep, so her fist goes slow, slow. I can see it coming, almost feel the pressure ripple up against me, before it lands. But then it doesn’t connect. Asami is there now, deflecting the fist, and twisting Kuvira’s arm. She tries to wrestle her to the ground, but there are so many people now, so many. How did they all get down here? Doesn’t matter, I suppose. This is a strong current. It can carry all of us anywhere. It can carry us right off the edge of the world, and I think that would be about right.

Asami and Kuvira drift apart, pulled by opposing tides. Guns are out now, which is silly. They won’t fire, down here. It's too wet. Far, far too wet.

Asami is next to me again, and her arms are around me. I feel her squeeze tight. She’s strong, so strong. She’s pulling me to the surface. Slowly, I can see something growing above, something soft, something bright. I can feel my lungs expand, my heart beat, and then-

“Blue?” Asami. She’s close, pressed up against me.

I'm standing. On the grass.

I glance around, and Kuvira is right behind her, a look of utter panic on her face. I wonder what’s bothering her. There’s a man with a mustache as well, and gold rimmed glasses. I recognize Hiroshi Sato from a thousand pictures. He looks worried too, but not the same kind of worried. Like a man losing money at the races. All around them are guns, pointed at everyone else. One trigger pull, and everyone falls.

“Blue.” Asami, looking me square in the eyes. “Hey. I know. And it’s ok. But we need you now, ok? We need you here. You’re the only watebender we’ve got, and we need you to save a life? Can you do that?”

I laugh, and push Asami away. My dress is sticky, and beginning to crust. I’m filthy, and I reek. A sickness rises in my chest, but there’s nothing there, so I just cough. Save a life? Sure. Maybe. We trained that, back South. All the waterbending officers did. But for what? All it takes is some hot metal, and you’re a goner.

Asami’s up against me again, and I notice that her dress is filthy too. It looks like mine, and reeks the same.

“Sorry, Asami,” I mutter.

Her eyes light up. “Blue! But… what? Sorry?”

“I ruined your dress.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t care. Doesn’t matter. I never wear a dress twice anyway. Remember?”

I do remember. That’s why Asami sent me this dress, so I would have something new to wear at the party… or meeting… or slaughter, I guess.

I nod. “I remember. At least, I do now.”

“Good,” she says, urgency now in her voice. She points behind her, to a body on the ground. There are bullet holes all around her, so people must’ve fired quite a few rounds. Must’ve missed quite a few times, also, because it only looks like she was hit once. Still, it hit her right in the neck. From the backside, which is what’s facing up, right at me. I can’t see her face, but I can see Opal’s tears. I can see Kuvira’s also, and I can hardly make sense of that image. The cables in her arms are tighter than I’ve ever seen, grasping that man from earlier's hand like it’s the only thing keeping her from drowning. He’s crying too.

“Help her,” Kuvira says, and it’s the most desperate thing I’ve ever heard.

“It’s Suyin Beifong,” whispers Asami, but I know that already. “Save her, and we might avoid more bloodshed. For now, at least. Try. Please.” Her hand on my back is comforting, and it guides me forward, towards the body.

I kneel beside Su. “How many times was she hit?” I ask Kuvira.

“Just once,” she says, her voice trembling. “She bent the rest of the bullets around her. She was - is - good at that. Taught me, actually. But she couldn't see everywhere... and she was shot just that once, from behind. I removed the bullet already. It was a twenty two. Small, and it missed the spine. We have a chance. You have a chance. Korra?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t fuck this up. If you do, I swear I'll fucking... just...” She deflates. “Please.”

I nod, and reach out to the fountain. It feels so, so far away now. And I’m so tired. The water is heavy, and I feel the weight of death on me. Death, that I caused. Blood, that I spilled. I see the red in the grass rising up to meet me and-

Asami’s hand is on my shoulder. “Just flow, Blue.”

Flow. Just flow. I reach out for Su’s neck, and she and I are tethered together, as sure as anything, the water our conduit. I flow. She flows. We flow. And we’re under again. Only this time it’s not red. I’m not drenched in filth, but something pure, and clean. So is she. There are bright lights on her, in her, and she’s glowing, her aura casting all about the water in which we’re floating. I’m holding her, and the current is guiding us. I don’t have to swim. Don’t have to direct anything. Just flow. The body knows. The water knows. Life finds a way.

Kuvira is down again, floating towards me. She’s moving fast, and before I can react, she’s on me. Embracing me.

“Thank you,” she says, and we’re swimming up, up, towards the surface, towards the bright, impossible light.

We breach, and my lungs expand, my heart beats-

I’m blinking, gasping. Standing with Asami. She’s holding me up, and I realize I’d fall if she weren’t. I’m spent. Totally and utterly.

“Where’s Su?” I ask.

“They’ve taken her inside. She’s going to make it. At least, it sure looks that way. But the healing process isn’t done. It’s just starting, in some ways.”

I lay my head on her shoulder. Her skin is soft. I could sleep here.

“We need to get started too,” says Kuvira. “This... all of this... fucking impossible. A total of, what, twenty something airbenders? I’ve never heard of more than two being used for a single job. Airbending snipers are too rare, and way too damn expensive. Hiring this many, for one job, would've cost a fortune. And every other kind of bender was here too. This was a fucking army. And that’s to say nothing of how they found this place.”

She’s back from… wherever she went, apparently. Hadn’t she just been with me? Floating? Was I already out? For how long? Not long enough, I guess. I'm still tired. So, so tired. My eyelids are like bank vaults, and I don’t know the combinations.

“Kuvira!” It’s a guard in green, dragging a body her way. It's the young woman I shot earlier, the firebender. I'd hit her with two rounds, and she's coming apart, hit twice in the stomach. But her chest is still rising, falling, however faintly, and there is still an ember of life in the eyes.

Kuvira smiles, and it’s a cruel, horrible thing. I’d vomit again, if I could. She bends a shattered airbender rifle from the grass, and twirls it in her hands, like a baton. It sprays red.

“Can you talk?”

The woman groans, then nods, and spits up blood. She can't be much more than twenty years old. From so far away, everyone looks ageless. Like they were never born, just put in front of you to die.

“Will you talk?” asks Kuvira. She looks like she's hoping for a no.

“Only to say that… to say that… we’re done with you. Satos. Beifongs.” She spits blood at Kuvira, but falls short. “Fuck both of you.”

Kuvira creeps closer. “We're done? Who is this we? And you wanted to… what?”

The woman composes herself. “We are Triple Threats, Red Monsoons, and Terras. We're here because-” She heaves, coughing up something black and viscous. She doubles over, but still keeps her eyes on Kuvira. "We're here because we got a tip. And we want our territory back. Our city back. I'm here because-" Her eyes shoot to Asami. "My parents were Agni Kai. You tell me why I'm here, murderer." 

Kuvira sighs, raises an eyebrow. 

Asami is motionless, silent. I feel her shoulder go cold against my cheek.

The woman shakes her head. “Fuck you, Asami. That night, at the Last Da-”

The air is torn apart by a gunshot, and so is the bridge of the woman's nose. Hiroshi Sato stands with a small handgun, still smoking, aimed right where her shattered face had been.

He shrugs. “She was dying. Clearly. And that sort of speech, about my daughter... well, that I just can't tolerate.”

Kuvira turns towards him, glaring. “And so you-”

“I put her out of her misery, Kuvira. We Satos don’t torture people. We’re above that.”

"I wasn't torturing her," says Kuvira. "Maybe you just didn't want to hear-" She stops, tosses the metal tube aside, and tilts her head. She walks forward, slowly. Her eyes narrow. “Nice gun, Hiroshi. What is that? A twenty two?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said in the "before" note, this is obviously a heavily metaphorical chapter. Our narrator is having a bad go of things, and she's our only window to this world. If you feel like something needs further explanation, please say so. And of course, say anything else you'd like as well. I always appreciate all kinds of feedback. That anyone at all takes the time to read is, by itself, really cool.


	15. Chapter 15

Hiroshi Sato is an imposing man. He strikes a wide, strong figure, full of all the confidence money can buy. Which is about right, since if anyone could ever have all the money, it’s him. He’s holding a gun out straight, hand on the trigger. With this gun, he’s just shot a young woman in the face. Killed her, mid sentence. This is a terrifying man. A man who does not know fear.

But he’s quivering. Trembling. The gun shakes at the end of his hand, as Kuvira approaches. Slowly, she walks forward. With every step, the moisture in the ground pops, squishes. I wonder how much of that she spilled tonight, how much of it she’s spilled in her life. The Butcher of Ba Sing Se, they called her. I wonder what nicknames she’ll get in this city. Something bloody, at this rate. Something really damn bloody.

Asami’s shoulder goes from cold to warm fast. So fast, that my cheek almost feels cooked. Still, I don’t move. I don’t want to. It’s so comfortable here. So safe. But even if I did want to move, I don’t think I could. Except down. I could fall down really easy. But Asami’s not letting that happen.

It occurs to me, dimly, that Asami did protect me from Kuvira. She blocked her fist. Huh. I’d wondered about that, before… before all the blood, before I drowned. And now she’s holding me up. This is strange. But it’s nice, too. I remember all the people she killed tonight, maybe as many as Kuvira, and all the others she’s killed previously. Hands stained red forever are holding me up, but it feels comforting. I wonder why, and can’t answer.

One of those hands is gripping that gun, the one like the moon and the stars, soft and bright like black ice in torchlight. She’s squeezing it, her finger rubbing against the trigger, like she’s scratching desperately at an itch, but just can’t get it.

Kuvira stops just short of Hiroshi. “Give me the gun,” she says.

She could bend it away from him, of course. She could take it, if she wanted. But she’s showing respect, and asking. No… no, not that. She wants him to give it willingly. She wants him to obey. Wants everyone to see it. I laugh a little, and Asami glances down at me.

“Shh,” she whispers. “Focus, if you can. We might need to fight. We might need to run. Get ready for either. For anything.”

I pull myself from her shoulder, and I’m heavy, like there’s a coat of lead over my shoulders. At least there’s not lead in me. That’s something. Something a lot of people can’t say tonight. Of course, those people aren't saying anything at all. I manage to lift myself, and find something resembling balance. Everything is spinning now, and I feel like I’m going to vomit again. But there’s nothing left, and I don’t even have the energy to heave. Not even to cough. I’m glad, briefly, for my exhaustion.

Hiroshi lowers the gun to his side, slowly. “Kuvira… this has been a difficult night for you. I understand that. And I also understand that… well, your reputation-”

“I don’t give a damn about my reputation,” snaps Kuvira.

Hiroshi raises his unarmed hand, palm out. “You make my point for me. You can be… a little trigger happy. Too quick to action. This isn’t the night for that. Or at least it isn’t now. Your actions earlier were… heroic… vital. You may have saved my daughter’s life, and for that I’m grateful. But there will be time for more elaborate gestures of gratitude later. For now, I’ll go. I’ll take my people with me. We’ll look into this. Both of the families. With our resources pooled, we’ll get to the bottom of… whatever this was.”

Kuvira doesn’t grab her revolver, but I can see her fingers reaching for it, hungry for the trigger. “So you’ve heard of me. In some ways, I'm not so bad as they say. In some ways, I'm far, far worse. And as for saving your daughter… well… I…”

Asami’s hand loosens, her fingers no longer twitching on the gun. Her eyes drop, like the words Kuvira leaves out are scattered on the ground, and if she could only find them, this would all make sense.

Kuvira snaps from her revere, and focuses again on Hiroshi. “I also know your reputation, Hiroshi. I know how investigations tend to go, when you’re involved. Oh, perhaps you could even involve the police force. I’m sure they’d prove impartial, as always.”

Hiroshi grits his teeth. “Fine. You want to have this discussion now? Let’s have it. Put your cards on the table.”

“Gladly. You want to know what I think? I think you tipped off the Triads. I think you provided them the funds to hire those airbender snipers. The people in Republic City who could afford that are very, very few. And the people who knew where this event was being held are even fewer.”

Hiroshi shakes his head. “That’s an awful hand, Kuvira. You’re drawing dead. Why would I want united Triads? I’ve spent twenty years, crushing those bastards. And why would I want them to attack here, tonight?”

She holds up a finger. “Not done, Sato. Why would you want them united? Because even then, they’re far less a threat than my family is - or could be, if we so desired. And I think you wanted them here tonight, because an attack when you weren’t around would too obviously implicate you. But notice, you’re not hit. Not once. I had a hundred rounds targeted at me. And Su… well… she’ll make it. I think. I hope. But if she doesn’t, it’s because you shot her. With that gun. In the chaos, who would know?”

I hear fingers on triggers, and I wonder if the ground is sated. Could it even drink more blood? I look across from me, and see Bolin, standing by Opal. Both are squeezing guns, looking right across the way. Right across at me.

“Bo…” I whisper.

He meets my eyes, then his lower, but his grip doesn’t loosen.

Hiroshi glares. “Idiot. My daughter’s guest saved Suyin. If I wanted her dead, don’t you think I’d have prevented that? Don’t you think I’d have stopped my daughter from bringing a waterbender?”

“I think Asami does what she wants.” Kuvira turns to me, with acrid eyes. “And who she wants.”

I’d say something, but I can’t find the words. I couldn’t speak them anyway.

Asami can though. And does. “I told you, Kuvira… I told you not to-”

“You very plainly told me not to call her a bitch. And I didn’t. You said nothing about naming her incredibly transparent purpose. I know all about your-”

“She’s my bodyguard. That’s it.”

“A bodyguard who vomits at the sight of blood?”

“Asami’s telling the truth. I’m nothing… personal. Just useful.” My voice. From somewhere. Somehow. Some part of me wishes those words weren’t true, exactly, but there they are. “I saved Su. At least… I mean… probably. And those people behind you… the six airbenders… I killed them…”

And I’m seeing them die again, in my mind’s eye. I can feel the lead punching their chests, and feel it reverberating in mine.

“While we’re on the subject of Asami… at least somewhat…” Hiroshi. I’d almost forgotten he was here.

I’d almost forgotten that anyone else at all was here. But there are a lot of people. And they all have guns ready.

Hiroshi clears his throat. “I think it’s… instructive to note that Asami was attacked as well. Viciously so. You should know, Kuvira. You were with her for much of the fight, from what I saw.” His eyes tremble, and there’s moisture building. “I couldn’t… I could never… if something happened to her…”

Kuvira is laughing, like that was the funniest joke in the world. But I don’t get it.

“Hiroshi… Hiroshi… I… I’m sorry. That’s just too much. Just cut the shit, please. Really. You think I don’t read? That I’m nothing more than a blunt instrument?” She shakes her head. “No, no, no.”

A single tear makes its way down Hiroshi’s cheek. “What are you saying, Kuvira? That I don’t love my daughter?”

“Maybe? That’s immaterial, really. What I’m saying is that you’d sacrifice her, if it meant getting more money, more power. Those are the things you really love. Why, you didn’t waste much time grieving for your murdered wife, did you? Right away, you were scooping up Agni Kai territory. Before her body was even cold.”

I’ve seen Asami threaten with a gun before, several times. She’s held one to my head. But right now, she doesn’t bother with that step. She simply fires. She raises the gun, glistening in the pale moonlight, and squeezes the trigger. Kuvira’s hands begin to move, out of instinct. But they can do nothing to alter the path of the bullet.

The bullet that misses anyway.

Everyone is still for a moment, then in the next, there is only movement.

“No!” Kuvira, her hand raised in command. “No. Hold.”

And everyone is still again.

Bolin’s gun is pointed right over my shoulder. I glance back, and there’s no one there. I find his eyes, and he nods. “Miss me too,” he mouths. Or I think he does. I hope so.

Hiroshi’s eyes are wide, stretched almost beyond the frames of his glasses. “That gun… Asami… it's been missing for twenty years... where did you get that?”

She doesn’t look at him, simply keeping her eyes locked on Kuvira. “I took it. That night. While the house was burning. I’ve kept it, ever since. Maybe it didn’t save her then, but it can protect her memory now.”

“Protect her memory, Asami?” Kuvira jeers. “I’m not insulting her memory. I’m insulting your father, sure. But not her. The fact that her life was leveraged for-”

“Not another word, Kuvira, or I’ll-”

“Or you’ll what? Miss me again? I don’t need to bend those bullets, Asami. You won’t shoot me.”

Kuvira walks forward slowly. Her eyes are trembling, but not with fear… with… with...

She raises her hand, and her fingers trace along Asami’s forearm, down to the gun. She leans forward, pressing her forehead up against the barrel.

“Do it, Asami. Kill me, if you can.”

Asami doesn’t move.

Kuvira smiles. “Your bodyguard here is a weak, pathetic bitch. Did you hear that? She’s a dirty fucking bitch. Your father is a backstabbing coward who tried to murder Su. He’d do the same to you, if he thought it would fill his pockets. And your mother… well, she’s dead. But you’re glad about that, aren’t you? Because you know she’d be so ashamed of what you’ve become.”

Kuvira begins to hum that song from earlier. I try to step forward, to stop her, somehow. But I can’t, just can’t. It feels like that lead coat from earlier has enveloped my entire body, but I manage to lift my hand, and place it on Asami’s shoulder. It’s all I can do, but it’s not enough. Weak. Weak and pathetic.

Kuvira sneers, and pushes the gun away. “What would she think? Her daughter, a killer, a liar, a traitor, a-”

Police sirens echoing against the trees, the house, and inside my head.

Everything is movement, chaos, and the world is spinning. Asami grabs my hand, and I grab hers. We're running, and I don’t know if I can hold on, I don’t know if I can-

Everything is still, everything is black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Drawing dead" is a poker term. It means there's no card you could draw that would win you the hand. 
> 
> Also, Kuvira almost quoted a Joan Jett song. That wasn't on purpose. But it's kinda awesome, I think, so it stays.


	16. Chapter 16

The sky above me is spilled oil, slick and shimmery, and the wind is a gale. I sink into the smooth leather of the passenger’s seat. Tired. So sick and tired. But still with energy enough to shiver. Not that it’s cold outside, because it isn’t, but from… some creeping bitterness inside of me. There’s a coat over me, but it doesn’t matter. You can’t block these things out. You can’t stop the cold from entering, when it’s born inside of you, not when- 

My left hand is warm. I don’t know how. I think, maybe, that I’ve left it on some part of the car, some part that’s overheating. I try to move it, but can’t. It’s held tight. By something. I wonder if I’ve got it stuck somewhere, maybe jammed in some mechanical contraption. But I don’t mind, because I’m warm now. Warm all over. 

\-----

I awake to a pounding, pulsing absence in my head. The lack of pain hurts. The lack of… anything hurts. I feel… empty. 

Is this death? Maybe. I don’t know for sure. But then, how would I know? Dead men tell no tales, they say, so they aren’t walking around, telling everyone what being dead is like. Every once in a while, someone tells a stupid story about visiting death’s door, and coming back. But I never believed those. I certainly don’t now. Not after what I’ve seen. You come to death’s door, you’re walking through it, and you’re not coming back out. Except for Su, maybe. I did that. That's one thing, maybe. One good thing, for me, in the middle of a sea of filth.

Still, death’s a greedy, cruel bitch. As nasty and sadistic as anything that’s ever been. I’m sure of that now. Why does she need agony? Why can’t someone just die with the touch of a bullet? Because she’s - why’s it always a she? - a bitch, death. That’s the only possible reason. It’s not a good one, but then good never had anything to do with it.

I’m not pleased with that conclusion, but I’m pleased to have come to a conclusion. And pleased that I’m not dead. I know, because when I go to push myself up, my right wrist sends a dagger up my arm, and into my brain. Fuck, Kuvira. Yesterday, I was pretty sure this wasn’t going to be so bad. But I was sure of a lot yesterday, that I’m not now. I bite my lip, and stifle a shout. I never did like to let people see my pain. Never liked to let people see my anything, now that I think of it. 

Of course, last night was different. Last night, I spewed all of my pain and weakness out, all over the ground, all over my dress. I think back to that steaming, vile mess. And Asami, who had pressed herself up against it. Asami the heartless, Asami the killer, Asami the hugger of sick girls on sad nights. It doesn’t seem right, not exactly. But reality doesn’t much care for what seems right, just what is. And there it is, plain as anything. 

Where I’m at isn’t plain at all. It’s a nice room, I can tell, just by glancing around through my still hazy vision. After rubbing my eyes a bit, the quality of everything becomes apparent. From the floor to the ceiling, to the vase to the mirror. It’s all nice in ways I can’t quite say, because I never worked at a department store. The sheets are smooth and soft though, I can say that. And I’m already dreading going back to what I have at Sharks. Not that those were bad - they weren’t. But now I know better, and you can’t just stop knowing a thing, once you know it. Even a trivial little thing like that has a way of finding a home, and settling down.

Propping myself on my right elbow, instead of my hand, I swing myself onto the floor, and feel the cool hardwood against the bottoms of my feet. The blue pajama bottoms are high enough to see my ankles. My ankles, that aren’t red. 

I crouch down, and rub them. Smooth. Clean. And they - I - smell faintly of… something nice, but I can’t name it. Maybe a flower, maybe some exotic spice. And my arms… my hair… I thrash my hands about, touching myself all over, feeling like a bit of a lunatic. But a clean, giddy lunatic. 

I settle myself, plant my hands-

Shit!

I plant my left hand on my left knee, and press myself up. The pajama bottoms are nice too. And blue. Of course they’re blue. Asami had a blue dress, why wouldn’t she-

Why wouldn’t she have blue pajama bottoms? She probably would. And why wouldn’t I be in them? A lot of reasons for that, probably. I pinch the light blue tank top I’m in also, and wonder about the same things.

I look around the room, and wonder how much everything in here might cost. Probably a lot, I’m guessing, because it’s nice, nice enough that a rube like me can sense it. But I can’t exactly see it, because nothing is flashy. Flashy is expensive, but not this kind level of expensive. You get enough money, and you don’t need to show off anymore. You pay for the illusion of modesty. 

And this room - a guest bedroom? - looks plenty modest, while the curtain over the window is probably some fabric made from a single kind of plant that grows in one secluded mountain valley on the other side of the world. You pay a fortune for it to look like cotton, but of course, not be cotton.

I breath deep, inhale, exhale, and my lungs hurt a little. Makes sense. My stomach does too, and it growls. Makes sense also. A lot of things hurt now, and I’m glad for it. Glad the earlier absence has been filled. Still, I’d like to fill my stomach too, and if my guesses are right, and this is a guest bedroom, then that makes me a guest. That means I’m probably entitled to breakfast. Of course, if I’m wrong, Asami can just shoot me. I wonder, though, if she really could. Kuvira, after all…

I don’t know what to make of that, but I know enough not to ask Asami about it. Something to do with the Last Dance Massacre, maybe? Kuvira hummed that tune, had said some things about it. Of course, she’d said lots of other things too. Some not so nice things about me, but those were shallow cuts. Her stabs at Asami aimed deeper, but for what exactly, I couldn’t say. Can’t say.

Probably, getting something to eat wouldn’t help. But it sure wouldn’t hurt either, so I open the door, and set off shuffling down the hallway. 

It takes me all of ten seconds to pass a few doors, and come to an open room. A study, maybe, because there are books, a fireplace, and a table. And Asami, seated at that table. For all I feel like garbage - and think I look the part - she looks amazing. Her hair characteristically flowing, giving the illusion of movement, even in absence of any breeze at all. A metallic red collared shirt, buttoned up, and tucked into tight, black slacks. 

I feel suddenly very aware of my state of dress, and wrap my arms around shoulders, trying to hold in my embarrassment. 

Asami looks up from her newspaper, and begins to stand. “Cold?”

“No, no,” I assure her. “I don’t… get cold, really. Just… uh… feel a little...”

Asami cocks an eyebrow. “Don’t like how I dressed you?”

There’s a furious heat in my cheeks. “No! I mean, no. It’s not that. It’s just, uh, I… feel a little under dressed, given the… occasion…?”

Asami smiles. “And what do you presume this occasion to be?” 

“Breakfast?” I shrug. “I was hoping you could tell me, honestly.”

“That’s later. Not much later though, don’t worry. I know you need to eat. But first, tell me what you’ve surmised, already.”

“Is this another test?”

“No. Well, not really. I’ll spare you my father’s speech about each day being a test, because it really is a chore. I don’t wholly disagree, however.”

I sigh. “Well, let’s start at the beginning. I remember yesterday well enough. Wish I didn’t, maybe, but it’s stuck there. For good, probably…” And I’m out of words, somehow. The silence sits between us like a boulder. 

Asami rises from her seat, and walks over to me, moving it aside. She puts both hands on my shoulders. “Do you want to talk about this?”

“No.”

“Do you need to talk about it?”

I laugh. “Sure, mom-” I bite my lip, avert my eyes. “Sorry, I… it slipped.”

“It’s ok,” she says, and it looks like she means it. I don’t know though. You can mean a thing, really wish it to be true, and have it not be. 

Still, she’s right. “I… I just…” and the words don’t come. If they were ever there to begin with. I’m sobbing, and it’s terrible. My face in pressed against her shoulder, and I can feel her shirt becoming slick with my tears, until with each heaving sob, I’m sliding. Asami’s hands are still on my shoulders, but she’s motionless. Like she’s afraid she’d break me if she squeezed.

“It would just be so much easier… if I was like you...” I manage.

Asami clenches her jaw, and her hands tighten on my shoulders. Like she’s no longer afraid, but angry. Furious. Her eyes are pure flame. 

“Listen to me, Blue. We are, all of us, the sum of our scars. But me? I’m all scar. Have been for years. Nothing but dead tissue. I can kill, because I’m already dead myself. I don’t hurt, because I don’t feel anything. You don’t want this. I promise.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. It’s an apology for what I said, but also for… for that. For her. “I didn’t know… I didn’t think…”

And maybe I’m still not thinking, because I throw my arms around her, and squeeze tight. Her elbows are in close, and her hands on my shoulders are still tense. She coils, for half a moment, then springs, pushing me away. 

“Just… don’t. Ok? Don’t go down that road, Blue. It doesn’t lead anywhere. Not anywhere you want to go, at least.”

I take a step back. I think maybe I do, but that she probably knows the directions better than me. I’m sorry, again, but I don’t say it. 

A thought jumps into my mind. A fear. “Are you… going to, uh, fire me now? Kuvira said a lot of awful, horrible things. But that thing about me… a bodyguard who pukes after a gunfight…”

“About that…” Asami’s glancing around, looking for the words. “No. But you did see me… compromised. Too many people did, to silence it completely. But still, we’d like it as silent as possible.” 

Her eyes are hard, and I’m resigned. Middle of the Sato Estate? I don’t know the layout at all. Even if - with one functional hand - I took out Asami… there’s just no way.

“Just make it quick, ok?” I ask, trying to make it sound like I’m asking her to pass the butter, please. Just the smallest favor.

She rejects it, though. “I'm not killing you, Blue. That would be one way to fix this, but it would be wasteful. And I told you, I'm not wasteful. Another way - and a better way - is this: I'm actually telling you to stay on as my bodyguard on a more... long term basis. Given recent... events, my father has insisted I keep one. And you have your uses.”

“You're telling me? I don't get a choice?”

“When the only other choice is death, it’s not really a choice. Not for most people.”

I bite my lip, then force a smile that's somehow, isn’t entirely false. My job is to keep this job, after all, and I'm still employed. It's good news and bad news, all over again.


	17. Chapter 17

The dining room, like everything else on the way, is stunning. And there are a lot of things on the way, because the dining room is a long walk from the study. Everything is a long walk from everything else, I figure. A disorienting series of lefts and rights, through single doors, double doors, everything but secret doors behind bookshelves. There are a lot of bookshelves though, so I don’t rule that out. In the movers, the bad guys always have something like that.

Some part of me protests against that categorization. Against the Satos, as bad guys. Against Asami, at least. I know what people say. But I also know what I saw, and what I felt. She’s not all the way bad. At least, not so bad, relatively speaking. When the whole world is rotten, no one specific stink stands out too much. 

The plate Asami hands me has bread and two eggs. She insists there are two eggs, but I can’t tell for sure. What’s sitting there is a golden thing, rolled up, vaguely rectangular. She calls it an omelet, but I knew that already. At least, I know the idea behind it. I know the concept of an omelet, but I’ve never seen a reality like this one. But then, in my kitchen, making an omelet is shorthand for making scrambled eggs, with just half a second of misguided ambition as a difference. 

I’ll get everything right this time, I swear... right up until the part where I don’t. A few frustrated hand gestures later, and I’ve got perfectly good scrambled eggs, which are always fine enough. No one ever has a problem with scrambled eggs, so I wonder why I ever bother aspiring to folding them into something. It’s just eggs.

It doesn’t make much sense to me, but then, I’ve never had to make sense of having kitchen staff. Don’t mind, though. In fact, I think I could get used to it. The omelet is rich, dense and airy in just the right balance. It tastes like… eggs. Which isn’t quite fair to say, because it tastes like eggs to an extent no eggs I’ve ever had before have tasted. They’re paragonal eggs. Asami attributes this to some farmer’s magic. Something about letting the chicken peck around in the grass for bugs, rather than eating just seed. She says it makes the chickens healthier, which in turn produces a richer yolk. You can tell, apparently, because it’s almost orange. This has to do with some process I’m not aware of, because I’m not listening anymore. I’m hungry, so hungry, and however the omelet got on my plate, I don’t much care, so long as it ends up in my quivering stomach.

I’m eating furiously, passionately, letting each bite slide down right on the heels of the one before it. I’d choke, but the cooks took all the friction right out of the eggs. Smooth. Silky smooth. And gone. I dab eagerly at the faint gleam of butter on the plate, using the bread like a sponge. Asami said it was uniquely suited to the task, because the hard crust on the outside would trap the moisture in, while the open pores would invite the liquid. They’d used a specific kind of starter, that yielded a specific texture of crumb, and I don’t know. It’s the best bread I’ve ever had, and it’s not close. I know that.

“Blue?” Asami, from across the table.

I just lean back in my chair and sigh, staring at the ceiling, at the golden chandelier overhead. Gold, probably. Not golden. Damn thing is probably worth more than I am. Not that that’s saying much. It’s probably worth more than ten of me. I feel a renewed sense of vigor, like I could sprint around the room, swing from the chandelier, then just tear out of my skin entirely. 

“Coffee?” she asks.

Maybe it’s not the best idea, but I can’t say no to anything right now. Everything is good. Everything is perfect. If she told me she had a pile of day old ashes, sandwiched between cardboard, I’d eat it. So long as her kitchen made it, anyway. 

So I nod. “Sure. What’s the blend?”

“It’s not a blend,” says Asami, like that’s the most profane concept in the world. “It’s single origin. From a small farm outside of Hira’a. Notes of roasted nuts, cherry, and tobacco. To blend it with something else would deprive it of it’s unique flavor profile, detach it from its terroir.”

“I… don’t smoke, Asami. Don’t chew either. I don’t really want it to taste like tobacco.”

She sighs, like I’m a child that doesn’t understand her numbers. “It doesn’t taste like tobacco. It’s a note, a single voice in a symphony. It tastes like coffee. Coffee, that tastes very faintly of tobacco. And other things. Impotantly, its taste is unique to a very specific time and place. It tastes like itself, you might say. Like no other coffee ever could, or ever will again.”

I laugh. “I would never say that. I’d say ‘Why the fuck did somebody put out their cigarette in my coffee?’ then find the bastard, and make them drink it.”

She fills a ceramic cup from a glass carafe, and slides it across the table. “Well, I’m the only other person here, and I plan on drinking my own. But, if you don’t like yours, I’ll drink it too. Busy day for me. I could use it.”

I wonder what a busy day in Asami’s life looks like. Of course, I won’t have to wonder for too much longer. We’ll be attached at the hip, soon enough. Or at the legs, as that might be easier. My father and I did one of those three legged races, years ago, at a town festival. We won the damn thing, because he basically carried me the whole way. 

I smile. Haven’t seen him in a bit. I wonder, idly, what he thinks of his little girl now. A disgraced cop, run away to Republic City, and without a word. Maybe he’s worried. Maybe he’s glad I’m gone. Maybe he’s just sad, and doesn’t know how to feel besides that. I… I should write him. I know it wouldn’t be safe, exactly, and I’m sure that Chief would cut off my hands before she let me write anything. But he should know, and so should mom. I’m not some kind of monster. 

No, a monster rips out the innards of a person, and watches them bleed out. I wouldn’t do that. No, no. Not ever. Well… maybe just that once. But maybe once is enough.

I’m staring at the coffee, black, and watching the steam rise, until it vanishes into nothing.

“Hey.” Asami again. Softly. She’s sipping her coffee. 

I make brief eye contact, hopefully enough to satisfy whatever curiosity she has about my mental state, then bring the coffee to my lips, and sip as well. I don’t taste any of the things Asami promised, not in any amount, not even a note, whatever that is. But it tastes like good coffee, which is all I ever wanted from it anyway. I just stare into the black, sipping, pausing, sipping.

Asami allows me the silence, lets me fill it with nothing. The void begins to gnaw at me though, and maybe it’s the food, maybe it’s the coffee, but I’m feeling a little energy again, feeling like painting that void, giving some color to it. They say alcohol puts courage in a man, but I’m not a man anyway, so coffee is good enough for me, right now.

I set my eyes on Asami’s. “Why am I here?”

She raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t peg you as the type to indulge in existential discussions, but I suppose it’s an interesting enough debate, insofar as one can be said to debate-”

“Why am I in your house?. Right now. Not...” I swirl my hands around, which I mean to approximate infinity, the universe, or something like that. But I mostly just mess up my hair.

“Oh. That. Because I brought you here.”

I shake my head. “No. That’s how I got here, but it’s not why. You drove me back, I know that. I was awake for… half a minute, maybe. I remember a coat, over me, blocking the wind. But the weather was nice, so I didn’t dwell on it. I do specifically remember my hand though, and it felt like… something, was holding onto it.”

Asami just raises her cup. Sips, slowly. “You had a hard night. It’s not uncommon for people to imagine things, when they’re fatigued.”

“I did have a hard night. Brutal. But I know-”

She sets her cup down, a little too hard, a little too fast. It sounds out a deliberate thud. “I didn’t hold your fucking hand, Blue.”

My eyes stay locked on hers. “And I never said you did. But thanks anyway.”

Asami looks like she’s about to come over the table at me, or maybe just flip the whole thing over. And not in the good way. “What are you getting at?”

The courage is seeping out of me, and I want to grab it, shove it back in my pores. I’m not done using it. Instead, I scratch behind my ear, and stare at the table. It’s gone, and I’m empty again.

“I just… I just don’t understand, I guess. This. All of this. I’m your bodyguard? You’re Asami Sato. You’re Asami fucking Sato. And, I mean, who the fuck am I, really? I’m so fresh off the boat, my shoes are just now getting dry. I don’t know this town. I don’t know shit. And after my first damn fight here, I fall apart. That was my first kill, Asami. I’m twenty five fucking years old. How pathetic is that? And how pathetic am I, for reacting like this? Why do you want someone like that around? Why do you want me around?”

“I told you. It’s business. My father insists I have a bodyguard now. We spoke about it yesterday. Yesterday, which you slept through.”

I bury my face in my palms. “See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. And what? So Hiroshi says you need to have a hired gun around. Why me?”

“Ask him yourself.”

“Excuse me?”

“You can ask him that yourself.” She glances up at a clock on the wall. “Ask him why he thinks I need someone. And why we agreed on you. He’ll be in his office, by now. Probably finished with the morning papers. He has some things he wants to discuss with you. About the other night. About what you saw, and what you didn’t see.”

I swallow, but you can’t swallow fear, not really. Not even if the Sato’s kitchen staff cooked it up. “Care to elaborate?”

She shrugs. “Care’s got nothing to do with it, Blue. He didn’t elaborate to me, so I can’t elaborate to you.”

I’m feeling anxious now, jittery. And I’m pretty sure it’s not the coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, let's just enjoy a nice, relaxing breakfast, getting to know our two leading ladies a little better, free of any angst...
> 
> Oh. This is why we can't have nice fluff, I guess.
> 
> Fun fact: Two eggs, toast, and black coffee was James Bond's home breakfast, everyday, in the Ian Fleming books. 
> 
> Also, we're over 5000 hits now. Thanks folks. I have to admit, this project is almost entirely self indulgent. Writing what I want, how I want. That anyone is coming along for the ride is really cool.


	18. Chapter 18

The bed in the guest room is made when I get back. It’s crisp, pristine, made like you wouldn’t believe it had ever been slept in. Maybe you’d even doubt that anyone had ever been in this room before. Probably, there are rooms in this place like that. Things built just to build things, just to fill space. Wood and plaster and glass, looking at one another, and never anything else.

There’s no illusion like that here, though, because there’s an outfit on the bed. And they don’t build houses that way. If they did, they wouldn’t fit the clothes to me, and match the colors also. But that’s what I’ve got here. Navy slacks, and a lighter blue button up shirt. Both are stiff, starchy. Like they went out and bought me a whole new wardrobe, while I slept.

The sum of the parts is not unlike what Asami was wearing, it occurs to me. The color scheme is different, but then it always is. I imagine swapping, her in blue, and myself in red. It shouldn’t seem half as silly as it does. Blue suits me.

And that’s well enough, I suppose, because I am Blue.

I say the word out loud, trying it out as a name, my name, and not just a color. I let it roll around my mouth, off my tongue, and through my lips. It feels different. Not bad, though. Not to me. Chief had called it a pet name, mocked it, but that’s not right. Asami Sato doesn’t give pet names, and not to employees.

Not even those she comforts in times of utter distress, though? Surely she can’t treat us all like that? And my mind is right back to the question of why. Why am I here? Why am I still alive? And what does Asami Sato want with me?

I allow myself a moment - too long a moment - to indulge in the idea that she was just impressed with my bending and shooting. And I did heal Su, also. Maybe I stopped a war, before the bullets really started flying? That’d be worth something. Some kind of reward. Maybe she could thank me in… some kind of way that I’m not going to think about. Not now. And not ever, if I’m smart.

But I’m not smart, clearly. If I was smart, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be double crossing her. So I let my imagination go, for a bit. Might be good, to let it run around. A quick stretch of the legs never hurt.

I imagine her talking about the car, the coffee, with interest and passion, and think that after, maybe we’d do something other than shoot people. Just go to a park, a mover, lunch, or something. I don’t know what people do for fun here, exactly. But something. Anything, to make her feel alive. To let her know that she still is, that she’s more than her scars, more than dead tissue. I’ve seen those sparks in her eyes; she can say the light’s gone out all she wants, but I know better.

I imagine the after, when we return to this place... her lips again, and her hands on me. Which they have been. I don’t need to imagine that. She’s touched my shoulders, held my-

Well, she says she didn’t do that. And I was in a bad way, right then. It could be that I was imagining it. But I don’t think so. I may not know coffee, and I damn sure don’t know cars. But I know what I felt, right then. I know that if I touched the car, I’d have felt nothing. I know that if I touched a dead thing, I’d have felt cold. But I felt warmth. I know that, as sure as I know my own name. I laugh a little. Blue? Korra? Do I know my own name? Maybe not the best choice, there.

Finally, I know how she reacted. Without me even saying it.

I don’t know why, though. What would be wrong with that? If she had... I can't even say it. Her hand was up my dress, though, within seconds of our first meeting. So she can touch me one way, but not the other?

I remember her eyes, when she slammed that coffee cup down. Anger was there, dominant, flaming right at the surface. But in the middle of those flames were those same sparks. Life. She says she can’t feel anything; but if that were true, why would she react at all? And further down, beneath the fire, there was something else. Something more subtle. Something like… fear?

“What are you afraid of, Asami?” I whisper to myself, knowing I can never ask her, that I’ll never know.

\-----

The black shoes they’ve given me are hard, rigid. The heel is too big, and it’s getting in the way of my stride. I feel like every step is a shout, rattling around the hallway, clunking out some coded message on the hardwood floor. I don’t know what it says, but wonder if Hiroshi does.

I’m about to find out.

Two guards, outside his door. Massive men, arms crossed, with no visible guns. They have them, of course. Though the person who could make it this far would have to be some kind of invincible monster anyway. Or Kuvira, maybe. I wonder if there’s any difference at all between those things.

The men nod as I approach, knock on the door, and say “Korra’s here, sir.”

A pause, for just a second. “Send her in.”

Back South, I didn’t have an office. Not even a desk, really. Just a small little table, which I avoided like it carried every infection known to mankind. I’d rather walk the worst allies twenty times than sit there for a minute.

So, I don’t know exactly what I was expecting Hiroshi Sato’s office to look like. But whatever I imagined, it’s far more humble than that. And far smaller.

I step in, and I’m right on top of him already. There’s no room for guards, which is fine, because the two stayed right outside the door anyway. There’s barely room for the desk, which is not an ornate thing at all. Not a hint of wood, and so no fancy carvings. Just a big hunk of metal, with a lot of drawers. And then two file cabinets on either side of it, with more drawers. Jammed up against the wall is a drafting table, and on the walls are sketches, graphs, charts, numbers that go to forever, then blow right on by it.

I don’t know what I was expecting. But I damn sure wasn’t expecting… this.

Hiroshi doesn’t motion me to sit, because there’s not a chair. Doesn’t want his guests getting too comfortable, I guess. He’d rather get rid of them fast. Which is fine by me, in this case. I can think of a thousand places I’d rather be.

Hirosh looks up from scratching on something, adjusts his glasses. “Korra. Glad you could make it.”

Like this was an invitation anyone could decline.

“Happy to… sir. Anyway, I want to thank you, first of all. Thank you for-”

He puts up a hand. “No need for that. You saved Suyin’s life. Had she died, I’d have been right behind her. Well, maybe not, considering Asami had…”

That gun. He doesn’t say it, but I remember that. Platinum. And bullets to match, Asami had said. I remember that gun, and I remember Hiroshi’s reaction. He looked like the gun was a ghost, appearing right there in front of him.

Hiroshi shakes his head, and shakes free from whatever that was. “Point being, Korra, I was going to reward you already. Give you a car. Some money. Enough to go away for a while. Preferably forever. Put you back on a boat - shit, I’d buy you your own - and ship you back down South. Where you belong. Rather than here. Where you don’t.”

Hearing all that, I can’t help but wish he had. Back home? I do belong there. Especially if we’re comparing it to Republic City. Can’t argue that point. Still, I don’t have much of a choice.

“Sir, with respect, Asami told me that you wanted her to have a bodyguard, and-”

“I did want her to have a bodyguard. And I still do. Because she doesn’t have one. Not yet. What she has instead is a…” he rubs the bridge of his nose. “A project? A disaster? Eyecandy? I really don’t know. But you’re not a bodyguard, I know that.”

I can’t argue that, either. And I can’t even pretend to try.

“So, why-”

“Asami does what she wants. I might be her father, and I might be her boss, but I can’t tell her what to do. No one can. If I tried to force a bodyguard on her, she’d tear their throat out that night.”

I just stare at the floor, wishing for all the world that a door would open up, and I’d just fall, fall forever.

Hiroshi sighs. “But she’s paying you. Paying all your expenses, and even paying for you to board here. So-”

“Here?”

He nods slowly, smarting at the interruption. “The guest bedroom you’re in right now? Take the ‘guest’ label off. You’ll find the closet’s already stocked. Asami went out and bought a whole damn wardrobe, yesterday.”

My mouth is hanging open, as open as the pit I was just imagining. So they - she? - actually did get me all new clothes... because I'm moving in. I don’t know if Chief will congratulate me or kill me. I don’t have any idea, because I don’t even know how I feel about it myself.

“Now,” he says. “Let’s be crystal clear: You don’t deserve this job. And I don’t want you to have it. I have some… guesses, as to why Asami does, however. I’m going to tell you what one of those guesses is. In a manner of speaking, anyway. Do not mistake this for a kindness, because it isn’t. It’s a tool. And a warning. Use it to do your job well, and know that if you don’t… well, I’ll have to invent something suitably obscene.”

I bite my lip, and nod.

“You know of the Last Dance… incident?”

I nod.

“Then you know nearly as much as I do. I told her not to bother, you know. The Agni Kai were irrelevant already, and revenge doesn’t spend. I just didn't see the profit in it. But Asami wouldn’t budge. She wanted blood. I gave her bodyguards then, to make sure she didn’t get herself hurt. To make sure she didn’t try anything stupid. And just like that, six months before the Last Dance, she was gone. Vanished. I didn’t find her - me, with all my resources - for an entire year. When I did track her down, she was in Zaofu, and she was… not herself. Not at all.”

“So, you think that-”

“I think that you should use that information as best you know how. If you’re half as clever as Asami thinks, you’ll figure out something useful. Now, any questions?”

I have a thousand, but only ask one. “That song that bothers Asami so much… that Kuvira recognized, and used like a weapon... do you know what it’s called?”

“That’s the one thing she’s agreed to tell me, about that night, just to make sure we never play it. Song’s called Almost Blue. Kind of a sad sap little thing, was popular for half a minute, a few years back. A lot of places would play it right before closing time. The Last Dance was one of those places.”

Blue. It had to be blue, didn’t it? Well, almost. The name tastes a little different to me now, in any case. Maybe it’s not a pet name. Maybe it’s the furthest thing away. Funny that they’d play that song at the party, though. I’ve never heard of it, and the number of people who-

“Korra. One more thing, before you’re dismissed. The other night, at the… party… what did you see?”

“Sir, I really-”

“You didn’t see a damn thing.”

I nod, and it’s not a lie. At least, not entirely. Nothing about that night seems real to me. Nothing much does, anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to this story's "canon version" of Almost Blue:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4PKzz81m5c&x-yt-ts=1422579428&x-yt-cl=85114404
> 
> Read about it: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Almost_Blue_%28song%29
> 
> Read the lyrics: http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/e/elvis_costello/almost_blue_lyrics.html#!
> 
> Yes, I'm stealing a real life song, and transporting it across universes, and kind of back in time. But it's an AU fic, right? So I can do basically whatever I want.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, I updated twice on the 30th. So, because AO3 only sorts by "date updated", rather than "time updated", you may have missed last chapter. It's the one where Korra talks to Hiroshi. If that happened, you're going to want to read it, before this. And even if you don't want to, you really should. If only to inflate my hits total.

My mind is racing.

Well, no. Races are structured. There’s speed, but there’s also a track. You go one way, not the other. Everyone is agreed on the rules, the parameters, everything. 

The things zooming around my mind… they don’t have any such agreement. And so they’re colliding, wrecking, creating all sorts of flaming chaos. I feel the shrapnel stinging, rattling around my skull. 

I’ve got the worst damn headache. 

I thought Hiroshi was going to clear things up. Well, he did. In his way, he made things very clear. He doesn’t want me here. Asami does. And he’s letting Asami get her way on this, because the last time he tried to force bodyguards on her, she vanished. And then reappeared in… Zaofu, of all places. I add that to the list of things I want to ask Asami about, but can’t. At least, not now.

Still, that only answers why Asami wants her own choice of bodyguard. It doesn’t answer why she wants it to be me. That’s question number one on my list, and it’s bigger and bolder than all the others, totaled together. 

“Why me, Asami?” 

It’s the only thing I really want to know, right now, and so I’m set on finding out. Well, set on asking, anyway. It’s a damn stupid thing to try, but then I’m making a habit of doing damn stupid things. I’m waist deep in damn stupid things, and the level just keeps on rising. So I’ll ask her. Straight up. She can shoot me if she wants. Somehow, I don’t think she will. Somehow, I don’t think she could. 

I remember Kuvira, saying something like that. She sauntered right up to Asami, humming that damn tune - Almost Blue - and pressed Asami’s platinum gun right up against her own forehead. Kuvira was asking her for death, knowing Asami couldn’t give it to her. I wonder how Kuvira was so sure, and where it is I’ve found that same confidence. I don’t know, but I’ve got it. And I’m going to use it, before it seeps out of me.

\-----

Asami is at the shooting range, someone told me. They told me where it was, too, but it’s a damn hard thing to find. Everything is, in this place. It’s sprawling, endless, like a jungle. And that’s not my native habitat. Cold, barren, open places. Those things I know. This place, I don’t. I suppose I’m about to get to know it a whole lot better, though. 

For better or worse. Not that those two things are always so far apart. So maybe, for better and worse? I like that better. And worse. 

A thousand loud and uncomfortable steps later, after questioning three more staff, I manage to find the range. Or at least, I manage to get close enough that the sound of gunfire draws me in.

It cracks open the air, and finds cracks in me that I didn’t know existed. This is the first time I’ve heard gunfire, since that night. Funny, that it should sound so different now. Funny, because it doesn’t sound different at all. Gunfire was always there for me, back South, the sound of my mornings and evenings, any spare hour I could find. 

I know these sounds, and yet I don’t. It’s like hearing the definition of a word for the first time, and realizing you’ve been using it wrong your entire life. Sounds the same. Is the same, in some ways. But it means something totally different. You feel ignorant, stupid. You wonder what else you’re getting wrong about life, about death. Maybe everything. 

The gunshots are closer now, and I walk through the door. Asami is there, firing a handgun, goggles over her eyes. I approach slowly. 

“Asami?”

She doesn’t react, except to pull the trigger. I follow down the sight, down the range, and see a paper target react to the impact. But only just. Like it’s only been hit with the idea of a breeze, rather than the genuine article. 

One hole. There’s one hole, right in the middle of the forehead. And Asami’s firing right through it, until the clip is empty. Before she can grab another, I put my hand on her shoulder-

She’s got my wrist in her hand, and some voice is screaming that sounds a lot like mine, but I can’t tell, because I’m on my knees, and the ringing in my ears is too loud to know for sure.

Quickly, she lets go, pulls earplugs out, slides the goggles up on her forehead, and offers to help me up by my - left, thankfully - hand.

“Sorry, Blue. Didn’t hear you come in. I just… react that way. You know?” 

She looks like she means it, and I remember doing basically the same thing to Bolin, back when I first arrived in Republic City. Not even a week ago, was it? Seems impossible. Blue’s been born, and set on growing up, in just that amount of time. 

I think about that song again, wonder about the name. I think one big question is probably enough for today, though. Probably too much already, but I’m still feeling brave. Brave, and in pain. But those two go together often enough anyway.

“I… actually do understand. Completely. So no worries. And anyway, by tomorrow, I should have the energy to fix it, good as new. Might as well break it a couple more times, while we’re at it.”

Asami laughs. It’s pretty, I think. And I also think that, if you were laughing through nothing but scar tissue, it wouldn’t sound pretty at all. 

“You know, that’s going to come in handy. Sorry, that wasn’t a pun. What I mean is that, I think your healing abilities have a lot of practical applications.”

“Well… obviously. If you get shot, I can-”

She waves her hand. “No, no. Well, yes. Potentially. But hopefully it doesn’t come to that. I don’t get shot. Not ever. Because I prepare better than anyone. More than anyone. And that’s why I win. Because, by the time the fighting starts, it’s already over.”

“And I can help with that… how?”

“Live sparring. It’s hard enough to find someone worth a damn to spar with, and when you do, you end up using heavy padding. But fighting isn’t like that. Not really. And so people fight differently, with gear on. With you, we can ditch that. No gear. If someone breaks something, you fix it, we move on. We’ll both get stronger, and it’ll be good practice for you, with your healing abilities. So that if you ever need to bring another person back from the brink, it doesn’t completely wreck you.”

I nod. That sounds painful. But fun. Well, painful and fun. Those two go together often enough as well.

“That’s item number one on the itinerary. First thing, every morning, is sparring. Then we come here, and we shoot. Then… I go to work. And your job depends entirely on what my job is, on that day. If I’m bookkeeping, researching ways to optimize distribution, or tuning an engine, you have an easy day. Maybe you go do other things, maybe you sit there and act as a sounding board. It's not the worst thing to have someone around. Maybe you hand me the right tool, when I ask for it. Do you know the difference between a flat and Phillips head screwdriver?”

“Not a damn clue.”

She shrugs. “We’ll get there. In any case, your real job will be when I have… other work. And it’s the same description as last time: Keep me alive.”

“Simple.”

“But not easy.”

“Of course not. Which brings me to… something I’ve been wondering about. I just came from speaking with you father, and, well, I don’t have to tell you how he feels about this. About me. So why-”

“I know how he feels. But I also know why he feels that way. And it’s fair, I suppose, on some level. He wants me safe, so he wants to hire his men - or one of them - to follow me around. My problem with that, is that such a person answers ultimately to my father. You, on the other hand, answer to me. And me only.”

I swallow, and the word ‘Chief’ goes down easy enough, settling in my stomach. It makes me feel a little sick. 

“I understand that. I think I already understood that, to be honest. But I still don’t understand why it has to be me. You could hire a thousand other people.”

“Well, I think you have… potential. You’re clever, astute in ways I’m not sure you’re aware of. And you’re physically… impressive. You may not know how to use it yet, but we’ll get there. And you’re the only waterbender we have. The practical implications for that should be obvious.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Asami.”

Her eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

“I said: Don’t. Bullshit. Me. I know I have skills. Useful skills. I don’t lack confidence, just ask anyone back South. But I also know what happened, the other night. I know that-”

“What do you want me to say, Blue?” Asami’s eyes go down, and the threat leaks out of them. “That night is the reason you’re here. Not that those other things don’t matter… they do. But not half as much as that.”

I’m stunned, and can’t form a question. My mouth just quivers, and the word “Why?” escapes.

“Because,” she says, her eyes focusing on mine. “Because I… I build things, Blue. That’s what I do. What I’m best at. It’s the only time I’m…” she laughs. “It’s the only time I’m ok. Just a little.”

“So you’re… trying to fix me, then?”

She shakes her head. “No. Well, yes. But not like that. And not exclusively. I’m also trying to fix... me.”

“But you’re Asami fucking Sato,” I whisper. “You’re-”

“I’m drowning, Blue. In a sea of blood. Just like you. I’ve been under for five years, alone, too weak to do anything but drift in the currents. So when I saw you go under, that night, right next to me… I grabbed on. And I thought that… that maybe we could help each other swim… somewhere... or maybe just float on to nowhere. If our heads were above the break, that would be something.”

“Asami, why not just-”

“Because he’s my father. The only family I have. The only person in the world who cares about me. No.”

“But-”

“No."

I don’t know where we are or what we’re doing but I know, or I think I know, that she’s right, that she’s down here with me still, down deep in all this red. I reach out for her, and embrace, pulling her in tight.

She yields for half a moment, then goes rigid, and pushes me away. 

“You need to go, Blue.”

“But I thought-”

“You start tomorrow. For now, go to Sharks, get your things, and whatever else you think you might need.” She hands me an envelope. “This should be enough to cover anything you want to buy.”

“Should I just ask for a driver?”

She pats the envelope. “You should use your new keys. It’s in the garage. I bet you can pick it out.”

She puts her earplugs back in, and slides her goggles down over her eyes. She starts firing again. 

I leave to the sound of bullets, and I don’t know what they’re saying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our first little glimpse at Asami's motivations. Lots, lots more to be unpacked, regarding that. I kinda feel bad for her. And for Korra. And for everyone that I'm writing. And yet, it's going to get darker. 'Noir' means black, so...


	20. Chapter 20

Asami called it a garage, but it’s the size of a city block. Of course, I don’t exactly know that garages can’t be the size of city blocks. There’s no rule against it, and if there was, the Satos would just break it anyway. But I have my suspicions that maybe they were never supposed to be. The intent was probably not that garages be heated and cooled also, which this is. A hundred cars at least, stretching down the walls, each given a more comfortable existence than most people in Republic City.

I’d feel bad about it - and I do notice the inequity in all of this - but one of them is mine. Funny how that can twist your opinions around, more than a little. A place like this is a testament to Hiroshi Sato’s greed - but also, I think, Asami’s brilliance; she did design these machines - and everyone he’s harmed along the way. But give anyone a piece of that action - even just a tiny fraction - and they turn into… something else. I wonder if that’s happening to me. Is that the person Blue’s growing into? 

I’m walking down the row, wondering about all that, and still my mind can’t help but think that “Damn, one of these is mine now.” I’m twirling the keys, and whistling. It’s wrong, a little. To thrill at a gift like this. One bought and paid for with blood money. But as I step beside the one blue Satomobile in the place, and an attendant is just finishing its polish, I can’t help but feel that this is right, as right as rain. Future Industries is a legitimate business, after all. Asami designed these, and Hiroshi’s company brought them to market. Whatever else they might do… whatever else her work involves… this is fine. It’s fine.

I open the door, feel the cold metal against my palm, and slide into the driver’s seat. It’s the same leather I felt on the passenger’s side earlier, but it feels like something completely new. Somehow more firm, and yet more pliable. It yields to me as if it was made for me, like it knows my shape and couldn’t accomodate any other. I catch myself laughing, then almost moaning, then laughing again, because damn, that almost sounded like sexual satisfaction. I put the keys in the ignition, turn, and think that it might be closer than I’d like to admit.

The engine comes to life, and it’s powerful like before. But this time it’s me giving it power, me bringing it to life. I shift it into gear, and press the throttle, and the car responds. To my touch. To my whim. The engine’s song is beautiful, and I want nothing as badly as I want to hear it scream for me. 

\-----

It drives like a dream, sounds like a nightmare, and draws looks like a limousine filled with every one of Republic City’s biggest mover stars. 

I don’t mind the attention, at first. But some, I could do without. Like that green car that’s been tailing me for the last fifteen minutes. Not sure I like the kind of attention they’re likely to give. It’s probably a little more than a wave, and a friendly hello. Probably not another blown kiss, either. But that’s fine. I don’t need to dodge any more of those.

I’m driving like I know these streets, or at least I’m trying to look like it. Stay cool, Blue. Just flow. Go with the traffic, not against it. You didn’t miss a turn. I mean, maybe you did. But you didn’t miss all the turns. Not at once, and not yet. You’ll get there, soon enough. Shortly enough. It’s not a bad drive, not at all. 

I’m beginning to think, though, that maybe I should have taken a damn driver. Not that I don’t appreciate the car, Asami. And it’s a damn fine color. Suits me just fine. But maybe just this once, a drive would’ve been nice. At least until I know where I’m going. But maybe Hiroshi didn’t want me to have one? Maybe they were all ‘busy’ right then? I get the feeling he doesn’t love that I’m here. Well, I get that feeling, because he told me his exact feelings on the subject. Not hard to get a feeling, that way.

But even then, Asami, couldn’t you have at least given me a map?

My eyes catch something beside me, as I glance back at the green car. A map, like the one in the passenger’s seat? I slow down, pull off to the side of the road. There’s black ink tracing the route, and then red ink showing various detours to get back on it, in case I get lost. There’s also a few words at the bottom…

“Before you ask, no, this isn’t a test. It’s space. For an afternoon, at least. Before things get claustrophobic.”

No signature, but I read it in Asami’s voice, and hear her laughter chase it. I still think it’s pretty. And the thought of us growing closer… well, I wouldn’t say no. Even if I could. And pretty’s got nothing to do with it. Well… maybe it’s got a little something to do with it. But not everything. And not even most. Because she’s right, about the swimming. And as much as I’d like to be out of that red, right now… well, sometimes the only way out is through. 

I glance up from the map just in time to see the green car pull up beside me, and slow to a stop. Traffic is still racing by, just outside them. This is public, too public. They wouldn’t… would they? Still, my hand is at my side, flipping the lid off my water skin. It’s loaded, and I’m ready. I didn’t bring a gun. Didn’t figure I’d need one, and didn’t figure I could use it yet, even if I did. I’m beginning to wonder how I ever loved those things so much. So damn loud. And so damn messy. Water cleans up after itself. 

The car comes to a stop, and a man leans out the window. He’s young, sneering, face wearing the same mixture of arrogance and ignorance I had, stepping off the boat. I’m wearing something different now, and I’ve got water pooled in my hand, swirling, ready to fire. 

He quickly raises both of his hands, and smirks. “Don’t shoot, ok? I’m just the messenger. And you know what they say about killing messengers.”

I do know. But I don’t think Republic City much cares for old sayings like that. I figure about anyone can get killed for just about any reason here. Talking seems as good as any. 

“It’s from Kuvira,” he says, and clears his throat. “By saving Su’s life, you’ve saved your own. Temporarily. She’s still considering how to proceed, regarding that fanciful notion of a truce. Until she makes a decision, open hostilities are discouraged. But there are many less open kinds of hostilities, and I greatly encourage those. That said, I have one final word for you…” The man folds his fingers up like a pistol, and points them at me. I see her revolver, and her face superimposed over his. “Bang.”

The wheels screech, and the car speeds away. 

I look at the map. There aren’t any words about what to do in case of… that. Drive, I guess. And so I do.

\-----

It’s still early, when I pull up to Sharks, and so its empty. Empty, except for Bolin and Opal. Her arm is locked in his, and she’s looking at me, glaring. I can’t quite make out why, exactly. 

“Opal.” I nod, trying a neutral greeting. 

She nods back. “Blue.”

“You-”

“What?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Only Asami can use your pet name?”

I’m glaring back now. “I saved your mother’s life. You might think someone would be a little nicer, after that.”

She pulls free of Bolin, takes a couple steps my way. He makes to follow, until the turns her piercing eyes on him. He backs off right quick, and she’s back staring me down.

“You saved her life. You did, and I’m grateful. But she’s still bed ridden. She can barely-”

“She’d be in the ground if it weren’t for me. And I could help again. Just let me come visit, and I-”

“We’ll be finding someone else, thanks. You’re not the only healer in town. There are far better than you, and they aren’t Sato lapdogs. They don’t work for the man that shot her in the first place.”

“Watch what you call me, Opal. Kuvira got away with it. But you’re not Kuvira. And about the bullet, Hiroshi didn’t do that.” The words come out before I have a chance to examine them. I don’t really know what I’m saying, because I have no idea what he did or didn’t do. 

She turns one corner of her lips up. “I’m sure the police will agree with you. Whatever decision they reach will be the one that profit’s Hiroshi Sato the most. Like every decision has, in this town, since his wife’s murder.”

“That’s not something you should talk about.”

“Why? Because it would hurt Asami’s feelings?”

“Because you don’t know a damn thing about it.”

“I wasn’t around for it, obviously. But I know what people say, in my family. What do you know?”

I know she was murdered by Agni Kai, and then a lot of their most important people were put in jail. That seems like enough, but still. I don’t know a damn thing about what her family says. I know what Mako told me, a few days back. Feels like a year, at this point, and the knowledge is distant. So maybe I don’t know what people say - just one person. But it’s not like I need to know what the Beifongs think about us. About him. 

“I don’t know much about it. But I’m smart enough to admit when I don’t know something, and then I’m smart enough to keep my mouth shut about it. If you’re not that smart, maybe I could teach you.”

She’s tense, coiling, gritting her teeth, and I’m doing the same. Glaring across some faded green carpet at one another, ready, at any moment to-

A streak of fire lights up the air between us. Mako. 

“Korra, it’s nice to see you. We were… wondering how you’re doing. Bolin and Opal told me about… the party. I’m glad to see you’ve made it back.”

“Don’t get too excited,” I say, eager to divert my conversation away from Opal. “I’ll be leaving here pretty quick. And for good. I’m actually moving...”

He raises an eyebrow. “Where?”

“The Sato’s place.” 

That answer lands in the room like an anvil.

“Well…” Mako glances at Opal, then back to me. “It seems that you and Asami really hit it off then. And fast.”

“We-” I stop, and follow his eyes to Opal. I forgot, she doesn’t know who I am. Not really. And she sure as shit can’t be allowed to. I swallow the protest. “Yeah, you could say that.” I force a smile, that I think maybe looks like I’m implying something. It feels like a mask on my face.

“I’m… happy for you?” Bolin. “I mean, yeah, I’m happy for you. Just be careful though, ok? I know what people say about her, and-”

“And it’s all bullshit, if you’re hearing it from Opal.” My hand is on my water flask, and I don’t know how it got there. Opal’s hand is reaching for something too, and Bolin is just wide eyed, shocked.

Mako’s hand is on my shoulder, but he’s looking across the room, staring intently and his brother, and Opal.

“How about I help you pack, Korra?”

“I don’t know, Mako, I-” He squeezes my shoulder harder. A lot harder. Oh. “I… don’t want to inconvenience you. But since you offered, yes, thanks. Let’s go pack. Downstairs. Now.”

He guides me past Opal and Bolin, towards the door to our living space. My former living space, here very soon. As we pass, I hear Opal’s voice, hushed and yet not. The kind of whisper that’s meant to be heard by everyone. The loudest kind of quiet.

“Kuvira says hello.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how books often have a blank page or two in the middle, and then a "Book/Part/Whatever 2" thing? Well, if AO3 had such things, there would be one after the next chapter. Just to give you a sense of where we're at, in narrative terms. I don't want people to think this story is just going to be every conversation Korra has for the rest of her life, narrated. I might actually allow myself some little time skips. Maybe. Well, probably. We'll see.


	21. Chapter 21

Going down the stairs, Mako guiding me, I can’t help but think that they sound louder than normal. The stairs. Or not the stairs, exactly, but my walking on them. It’s the shoes, of course. A Sato employee dresses a certain way, from head to toe. And while I don’t have anything on my head - and don’t fancy myself a hat person anyway - the toes are covered. Covered, in something stiff, black, and shiny. With that giant damn heel. It feels like it’s interrupting my stride, like my foot catches the ground, just a fraction of a moment before its ready.

And so it feels almost like I’m stumbling down these stairs. These stairs I’ve walked before, wearing flat boots, with soft, flexible soles. I padded down on the balls of my feet, and it made no noise at all. Now, every footfall comes with an accompanying thud. Each one sounds like a shout to me, and I wonder how Mako isn’t covering his ears.

Instead, he’s just walking, gnawing on his lip. Probably still listening to that conversation he interrupted, and seeing the hundreds of ways it could’ve gone south in a hurry. Well, it’s not like I was really going to attack Opal. Defending myself, though… that’s different. And perfectly reasonable. She could’ve been reaching for a gun. And she’s an airbender too, so any hand movement could be the start of some attack. I was right to be ready. Ready never hurt anybody. At least, nobody that didn’t have it coming. Not being ready, though… plenty of people get hurt by that everyday.

Not Asami, though. Never her. Maybe some of that will rub off on me. Maybe some of it already has. Wouldn’t be the worst thing.

My hand is rubbing my water skin, and I’m glad for its presence on my hip. And glad its not a gun. Asami’s comfort with those… her mastery of them… I could use a little of that. Shooting through the same hole, on a target? That’s impossible, even for the best shot. There’s a reason the bulls eye is bigger than a single bullet, and it’s because nobody could hit the damn thing if it wasn’t.

I think back to my days on the range. My mornings and nights, too. I was good. Damn good. Probably still could be, if not for… well, that night. But even at my best, I couldn’t do that. Not because I wasn’t good enough, but because no gun is good enough. They’re amazing machines, but flawed. To shoot like she did… You’d have to understand those flaws exactly, predict them, then make the necessary corrections in aim before firing. Microscopic adjustments. And to do that, you’d have to… make the guns? Practice with them for hours on end? Know them like an extension of your own hand?

I laugh. You’d have to be Asami Sato. There’s only one of those, and they’re not making more.  

Of course, if they were set on trying, you’d have to find someone who knew her. Really knew her, not the Red Raven, not Asami fucking Sato, but just the regular, genuine thing. The human behind the myth. I wonder if there’s anyone like that anywhere. I think to what she told me, about us floating, maybe even swimming, surviving that sea of endless red together. She said she’d been down there for five years… alone. So no. She hasn’t told anyone else anything like that, because no one else has met her there. Which means... I’m that person? If not right now... maybe soon. That wouldn’t be the worst thing either. Might be a whole lot better, even.  

Mako’s walking with me to my room - or my former room - still gnawing at his lip, almost like he wants the damn thing to fall off.

“Hungry?” I ask.

“Hmm?” He doesn’t even open his mouth, much less talk.

“Your lip,” I say. “You seem dead set on eating it.”

He laughs, letting it go, and rubs the back of his head. “Yeah… I… uh… That was just a little tense up there, wasn’t it?”

I nod. “It was, but she started-”

“Korra, you’re not about to justify that by telling me that she started it. She’s seeing Bolin now, so she’ll probably be around a lot. You’ll have to-”

“I don’t have to do a damn thing!” I turn in my doorway, facing him, like he’s an intruder. “In case you forgot, I’m leaving.”

“I didn’t forget,” he says. “So much as I kind of… misplaced the knowledge, for just a second. It doesn’t seem real, you know? And so fast. I mean…” He just shrugs. It’s as accurate a statement on things as anyone’s likely to muster anyway.

I’m reminding myself to relax, and it’s like when we first met. When I about broke Bolin’s wrist. Now it’s mine that might be cracked, which is probably about fair. But this is Republic City, and I don’t get the feeling fair has much to do with anything that happens, around here. It’s hurt, because Kuvira hurt it. And she’s no representation of cosmic justice.

“Sorry for snapping,” I say, walking over to my bed. I sit down, and stare at the floor. “You’re right, though. About this all going fast, about it not seeming real. I have to remind myself, you know? About all of… well, everything.” I shake my head, and laugh. “I thought this was going to be an easy gig. Well, easy in a manner of speaking. Easy, compared to a desk job. Maybe even fun. Action packed, chasing down bad guys, shooting them up… maybe even get the girl in the end.”

Mako sits down beside me. “Sounds like you’re getting the girl already.”

I want to shout a protest, or hit him, or… something. I’m tired of it. Tired of that. Tired of everyone insinuating I’m just there to warm Asami’s bedsheets. Like I don’t have any utility at all besides that. I’m Blue. I’m her damn bodyguard. I stopped an attack on her once already.

I look at Mako and remember that no, no I’m not. I’m Korra. I’m an undercover cop, sent to tear down her entire world. If she dies, she dies.

I just shake my head. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?”

“Shit… I wish someone would tell me. It’s… complicated.”

“I’ve got a minute.”

“I couldn’t tell you if I had an hour. Time’s not the problem. It’s my understanding that’s short, and even then, I don’t have the words to make sense of what I do understand. I just… don’t know. I don’t know much, other than that we’re connected now, and I’m going to see where we end up.”

“Well…” He’s chewing his lip again. “Maybe talking it out would help you understand. Even if you don’t have all the right words.”

“No, Mako. And stop asking. Please. I’m not going there.”

“No going where, Korra? You need to-”

“You need to shut the fuck up about it!” I’m standing over him now, fists clinched. I take a step back, try to deflate. Flow, Blue. Relax. “I… I’m sorry. I’m just stressed. And she trusted me, Mako. With something big. And she’s still trusting me with it. I can’t just… give that away.”

He stands, and looks me dead in the eyes. “Korra, that’s literally your entire job. Get her to trust you. Then give it away.”

“I know.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

I’m silent. I know what the problem is. She’s opened herself up, pulled back those deep layers of scar tissue, and showed me a little slice of her still-living pain. And she was there for me, when I was so full of agony that it came spilling out onto the grass. Onto her dress. She grabbed my hand - even if she won’t admit it - and pulled me back. We’re floating together now. If I let her go… then maybe I just sink. That’s a problem. But the bigger one, maybe, is that I don’t think I could stand to see her go under.

“There’s no problem,” I say.

“Then why can’t you talk?”

“It’s for your own good. There are some things you shouldn’t know. A lot of them. I… I’ll tell Chief.”

Mako glances at my alarm clock. It’s barely past noon. Seems impossible. Seems like there’s been two weeks packed into every day, since I arrived here. And people always say time moves faster in Republic City. Bullshit.

“Chief won’t be back from her regular office for a few hours still. Just stay for a bit. Have a drink. Cool off.”

“Can’t,” I say, although I’m still scrambling to figure out why. “If I’m gone that long, Asami will start to… wonder. She said I only have a couple hours, that she needs me for a job later this afternoon.”

“What kind of job?”

“Mako.” The kind of job I invent on the spot, apparently. Those words go unsaid, and taste sour in my mouth.

“Ok, ok. Chief thought maybe this would happen. She gave me a message to pass along, just in case.” He laughs. “You know, I was going to do my impression of her, just now… probably not the best time, though. So… ahem: I’m glad you’re not dead. Now get me something useful.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. You were expecting something more… verbose?”

“I… guess not. Can you pass something back. It’ll be about as short.”

He rolls his eyes. “I do have other things to do, you know. I’m more than a bartender.”

“I don’t know, actually. Because I’m smart enough not to ask about whatever secret shit you get up to.”

He sighs. “Fair enough. Ok. What is it?”

“I’ll get her something good. Damn good. Just trust me. And ask her to get me everything she can on the Last Dance Massacre, and the murder of Asami’s mother. Everything from tabloid articles to the case files.”

“The case files, Korra? Do you have any idea-”

“Just ask her, Mako. You don’t have to make it happen. And she doesn’t have to say yes. But she’s my mark, and these things seem to matter a lot to her. That means they matter a lot to me. I have to know her, if I’m going to… exploit her.”

It feels wrong, just saying it.

But he nods. “Ok. I’ll ask. Don’t expect a yes, though.”

“I won’t,” I say, and turn to the doorway.

“Umm, Korra? Aren’t we forgetting something? Like, aren’t we forgetting everything? We haven’t actually packed.”

I shrug. “Now that I’m here, I kind of feel like I don’t need it. Any of it. She bought me a wardrobe. And if I want any new clothes, well, I’ve got the funds to do it.” I pat the envelope, still in my pocket.

“And what if you want any old clothes?”

I glance at the closet, and feel just a tiny thread connecting me. I feel it snap as I walk away. “I won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my fan fiction has fan art. The link is in the picture itself, but here it is again, just in case:  
> http://thejennawynn.tumblr.com/post/109861081779/fanart-of-a-fanfiction-specifically-republic
> 
> I'm so far beyond thrilled about this, that if I turned around and looked, I couldn't find 'thrilled' on the horizon. It's long gone. Which... I know I say I write this for me. And that's true. But I could write it for me, and never post a thing. Posting, well, that implies an audience. It implies that I'd like one, at least. And that inherently makes sharing just a little scary, every single time I hit the post button. So, every time anyone reads this - much less comments, shares, etc. - that's really cool. And this is really cool. You guys are really cool. (Probably enough gushing though, yeah? I have an 'angsty' image to maintain.)
> 
> So, this drawing is a scene from Chapter 6. I'm posting it here and now because: I want lots of people to see it; and I want it to act as a kind of 'break' between Parts 1 and 2 of this story.
> 
> Regarding which, Part 2 is going to get fleshed out. Quite a bit. No time skipping, I've decided. In a story like this, where I've been very detail heavy, that would seem jarring. And frankly, it would be lazy on my part. So Part 2 is going to grow, which means that there is now a Part 3, basically. Which means this is actually going to be longer than I expected. While those Parts won't necessarily match Part 1 in terms of word count... they could flirt with it. So, this will very likely go over 100,000 words. Which seems unreal, even as I type it. So please don't hold me to that. And I swear, this length was NEVER the intent. But here we are.
> 
> All of this also means that my post-a-day average is probably going to drop. Not much, but some. I'd guess I'll probably average a post every 2 days, thought there will be times where I hammer them out quicker. This isn't because I'll be writing less, but because Part 1 was spent throwing a lot of balls in the air, and I need to concentrate if I want to keep juggling them well. Thanks in advance, and thanks for reading, as always. 
> 
> (But seriously guys, my fan fic got fan art and I can't even begin to cope.)


	22. Chapter 22

On the drive back, I think maybe the engine sounds a little quieter. I’m wishing it would, anyway. That deep, throaty growl that just crawls inside you and shakes your bones… well, I could do without that, right now. I'm wishing for a whispered roar at the moment, hoping nobody in green hears, and comes tooling around, or sits on my bumper. I’m wishing for the quietest V12 that ever was. 

Which is a hard thing for me to wish for with any accuracy, considering I don’t know what a V12 is, besides an engine. And I don’t even know for sure that Asami’s given me that model. I think she would though, probably. If I’m her bodyguard - and I am, even if it’s just in name - then I represent her, on some level. On a lot of levels. So she has to make me look good, if only so she can look good. I don’t think she needs the help, exactly. 

I let my left hand rest on the wheel, and my right hand drift to my water flask. I pop the lid on and off, and think, after a few minutes, that I’m keeping a nice rhythm with the engine, that there’s a nice little tune going. That I’m flowing right along, right down the road, following the black lines Asami drew for me. If all her directions are this clear and easy to follow, maybe this bodyguard gig won’t be so hard.

\-----

They say, back South, that you never really know a path until you’ve walked it both directions. Coming and going, any trail may as well be two different things. It’s a lesson on perspective, I think, but unlike many such lessons, this one has some real world truth. 

And coming, conscious for the first time, the Sato Estate looks a damn sight. Walking away, finding the car, and then driving off, my mind had been elsewhere. But now my mind is captured, unable to be anywhere else but right here, behind my eyes, enjoying the view that’s in front of me, surrounding me. 

The driveway doesn’t have a single crack, I notice. Nothing like the pavement in the rest of Republic City. And that takes some doing, since this driveway is probably longer than some roads in the city. 

I pull into the garage, and hear the roar of the engine turn to an echoing murmur. It bounces off the walls and rattles around in my stomach. It’s got plenty of room too, as my stomach still feels pretty damn empty. Even counting breakfast, I’ve only eaten once in the last two days. Doing nothing, that’d be uncomfortable. But I’ve been busy, even when I wasn’t. Laying in bed, recovering from… well, everything… that’s got to take a lot of energy. You pull someone up from the darkest red depths, right before everything goes black and no light can reach them, that works up an appetite. You spend the next day passed out, and that’s a day without satisfying that appetite. You eat some toast and two eggs the next morning, and now your stomach just has enough energy to express how hungry it is.

And mine’s talking quite a bit. I turn off the car, and I still hear rumbling. And whatever a V12 is exactly, I don’t think I’ve swallowed one recently. I take a swig from my water flask, just to put something down there. It’s moments like this that reveal the hidden benefit of being a waterbender: We get to consume our ammo. If you’re swallowing rocks, fire, or bullets, you’re in some trouble. And if you’re swallowing air… well, that’s just breathing. 

I take another drink, and start walking towards the building in front of me. I remember when I first arrived here, the Future Industries Tower reminded me of a mountain. That was wrong, though. All perfectly vertical straight lines, all glass and polished metal, that was a thing entirely of industry. This… this building… this house… this mansion… this sprawling mass of something and everything is a whole damn range of mountains.... and yet more than that, even. Spires reaching towards the sky, a dome like the sun itself, staircases reaching out like arms of giants, it’s as if every force of nature conspired with the greatest architects alive to build something beyond what either could do separately. 

It’s the damndest thing I’ve ever seen. And it’s home. I splash some water on my face. Another waterbending perk. 

\-----

I’ve never carried a watch, but I’m thinking maybe it’s time to start, if only to see how long it takes me to get anywhere in this damn building. Maybe Asami should get me a map of this place, and if they don’t have them, maybe she should draw me one. Otherwise, in a couple years, they might just find my bones somewhere in a dead end hallway no one ever visits. No one except me, that one time I got lost. 

Of course that’s awfully presumptuous of me, thinking I could last years in this place, even as a pile of bones. It’s hard to say how long I’m supposed to last. However long it takes, I guess, to get Chief that damn good thing she’s waiting on. Or until Asami finds me out, and shoots me.

I laugh, then I laugh at my laughing. There was a time, not so long ago, when that idea terrified me. Legitimately. Now it’s a joke, because I know she won’t. She’s opened up to me, which means that-

Which means that, once she finds out I’m a cop, a traitor, a mole, a scumbag, a nark, a whatever dirty word she can think of at that moment… well, if she doesn’t shoot me, it’ll only be because she wants to draw my pain out far longer than that. I remember Hiroshi said that Satos don’t torture, but I also remember the cold, calculating detachment with which Asami gunned down dozens of people. Like they were simply the variable to the right of an equals sign, a thing to be solved for. I remember her eyes then, and I can imagine her cutting mine out. I can feel it. I can hear her saying my name, letting it roll off her tongue like a cruel joke. “Blue,” she says, as the knife begins to dig in. “Oh no, it looks like I’m ruining your color. Blue is getting all red.” One thrust would be enough, enough to end it, but she won’t give me that release, no, she-

“Blue?”

It’s Asami’s voice. I flinch away, and cover my face. I try to say something, but it just comes out like a whimper. 

I feel her fingertips on my shoulder, then slowly, her palm as well. She presses, squeezes, and it’s not a rough touch, there’s no violence in it at all. Nothing sharp, and no pain. I open my fingers, and pull back my hands. I can see, and I can see her, standing over me. There’s no evil in her eyes, and no knife in her hand. 

“You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong,” she says. “But…”

I force a smile, and it actually feels like it belongs. “I don’t have to tell you, because you already know. It’s…” I just shrug. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Or I will be.”

“Follow me,” she says, taking my hand. She’s walking me down a hallway, and it’s just that, probably, nothing more. I’d wanted a map, earlier, but I don’t have one. So she’s guiding me somewhere, and the easiest way to do that is to pull someone along by their hand. I wonder if I should hold tighter or looser, and then wonder if my palm might start sweating, and thinking about that makes me even more sure that I’m about to start sweating, and-

And she lets go, because we’re in the study now. The same one from earlier. She sits down at the table, and begins sketching something that looks like the outline of a handgun. 

“I didn’t think you’d be back for a while.” She looks up, twirling the pencil in her hands. It occurs to me that she could probably stab my eyes out with that just as easy as a knife, that-

No. She could, but she won’t. Because I’m not going to get found out. And even if I did… well, looking at her now, those aren’t the eyes of a killer. I know what people say, and I know what I’ve seen myself. But that, that was different. Those were her enemies, and they were attacking her. But then... I am her enemy. She doesn’t know it, not yet. But that’ll only make it worse if she finds out. When she finds out. Because she’s Asami Sato, and who the fuck am I? She wins, and if we’re playing, that means I lose. And losing, in this case, means a quick death. If I’m lucky.

She has my hand again, and we’re walking together. At least I think we are. She’s guiding me, not pulling me, and it’s a gentle, suggestive thing. 

“Have you ever ridden a motorcycle?” She’s smiling as she asks, like someone asking how spicy you want your food.

“Wha- I… uh… no?” 

“Would you like to?”

“I mean… sure?”

“That didn’t sound very convincing.”

I laugh, and it feel honest, true. “Probably because it wasn’t.”

“Would you like me to convince you, then?” And it’s her voice from our first meeting. With that voice, she could sell matches to a firebender. 

I nod, because you can’t say no. And I’m not much for words right now anyway.

“Well,” and she’s all business again. “The utility of a motorcycle, in our line of work, is somewhat limited. But that is not to imply that it has no utility at all. When dense traffic is expected, and a rapid getaway is required, you’ll be glad to have a machine that can weave between cars. I’ve done that before, of course. But I’ve never done it with you on the back. The bike will handle differently, with your added weight. I can do the calculations in my head…” she pauses for a count of ten, and her eyes glance up and around, like they’re reading something on the ceiling. “And now I have. But calculations are one thing, feel is another. So, I could tell you that I need to feel the bike, and I need to feel you on it. I could tell you all of that, and it would make perfect sense. I could tell you all of that, and pass it off as work.”

“Could?”

“Yes, could. I could tell you all of that…” She smiles, and it’s all mischief. “But I won’t.” I could swear her hand tightens around mine, maybe just a little, and her pace quickens. 

I raise an eyebrow. “Then what will you tell me?”

“That you need some fresh air, and I need to go for a drive. Good enough for you?”

“No,” I say, hoping my face looks more confident than my insides feel.

She stops walking, and there’s ice in my stomach. “No?” Shit. “Blue, I’m Asami Sato. I can’t remember the last time someone told me no. The mere fact that you’re here, right now, is proof of that. The most powerful man in Republic City couldn’t say no to me. And yet here you stand, throwing that back in my face. I almost can’t find the words. I-”

“Asami, I-”

“I like it.” She smiles, and winks. The ice is gone, and now I’m on fire. “If I wanted a dog, I’d get one. But I wanted a person, so please, feel free to act like one. No one ever seems capable of that, around me. Now, about that no… What would it take to turn that into a yes?”

“Noodles.” 

She pauses, blinks. “Noodles?”

“Noodles.” My stomach growls, louder even that before, and we’re both hysterical.

She composes herself, after half a minute. Barely. “You two make a compelling case. I concede the argument.”

I smile, all mischief now myself. “You concede? Does that mean…” I lean in. “Does that mean that Asami Sato… lost?” 

She matches my grin. “Lost? Oh no. I win. Because tonight, I’m getting exactly what I want.” The words drip from her lips like honey, and one of her fingers is tracing my palm. 

My grin vanishes, and my mouth is hanging slightly open. “So you-”

“Yes, I’ve had a massive craving for Water Tribe Noodles lately. Now, let’s go.”

She turns with a flourish, flipping her hair, and begins to walk again. Asami Sato always wins. Even when she doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, when I talked about adding to Part 2, this is exactly the sort of content I wanted to add. That I felt this story needed, honestly. I was basically going to jump from plot point to plot point... which would kind of suck, I now think. This is a story in which a lot of things happen, and will happen, but it's fundamentally "about" the relationship between two wounded people. Showing that development requires showing the moments between gunfights, and dramatic confessions. Ultimately, I think it will add weight to those things, when they occur.


	23. Chapter 23

I’m waiting outside a door, standing in the hallway, and have been for… I can’t tell, exactly. Maybe it is time to get a watch, after all. Asami ducked in a door, which does not lead directly to her bedroom, she was sure to note, but does lead to a connecting room. A room adjacent to it, she’d said. 

So, her bedroom has multiple rooms? Does she get an entire wing? I wouldn’t doubt it. I wouldn’t mind, either, since that would mean I’m in her wing. My room is close. So close, I could actually navigate the space between the two without a map, and not feel like I needed to pack a week’s rations, just in case. 

My stomach growls and cramps at the thought of food, and I think maybe I should set my mind elsewhere. 

Asami is where it goes, and I’m not surprised. Of course, I don’t mind, exactly. At least so long as I’m not imagining ways for her to kill me. And right now, I’m imagining all sorts of other things she could do to me instead. She did tell me where her room was. Or… she sort of did. She showed me a door to a room that would probably get me there, eventually. Is that inviting me over? Is it close enough that I could just...? 

I wouldn’t think so, except… this… 

This almost seems like a date, if I didn’t know better. Going for a motorcycle drive around the countryside, getting dinner. Maybe we’ll catch a mover after, maybe head to a bar. Then, maybe…

I’m tracing that spot on my palm that was just recently visited by her finger. I’m following the exact route, and it’s not hard, because I can still feel the tingling. I can still feel her touch, and I can trace it as easy as I could lines drawn in black ink. 

I pull my finger away, and sigh. This almost seems like a date, if I didn’t know better. But I do know better. Or I damn well should. 

I look up the ceiling, and when I glance back down, the door is open, and I don’t know anything for sure. At least, not for a moment. The woman standing there is Asami Sato. Or at least, it better be. If there’s some woman slinking out of her bedroom, right in front of me… Well let’s just say I might invent a reason to consider her a threat to Miss Sato. And then deal with that threat. Promptly. 

She smiles. “Blue?” Asami’s voice, and yes, Asami. 

But her eyes are a deep green, like pine needles. Like Opals or, no… like Kuvira’s. There’s no makeup around those eyes, and I think it’s the first time I’ve seen her without any. Her hair is back in a tight bun, and that’s a first too. She’s changed shirts as well, now wearing a green to match her eyes. She twirls an eyeliner pencil in her hand.

“Tell me, who do I remind you of now…” her voice is dropping a little, and there’s threat in it. My left hand gravitates to my right wrist. It throbs for a moment. 

She raises that eyeliner pencil, and places one black dot under her right eye. She narrows both eyes, and somehow, her eyebrows arch. 

“Bravo,” I mutter. “But… uh… I don’t really want her taking me out for a date.”

Kuvira- 

Asami arcs an eyebrow. “A date?”

I swallow, but the words are out already. I can’t bring them back, and I can’t choke them down. 

“I mean…” I mean that this reminds me of a date, and maybe I want it to be one, on some level, even though that’s a damn stupid thing for me to want. “I just don’t… I just think… I… why?”

She shrugs, and wipes away the black dot. “That? To fuck with you, a little.”

“I suppose it’s good that you can joke about her...”

“And why couldn’t I?”

“Well, she did-” 

“I missed her on purpose, Blue. You have to know that.” But I don’t know. And I don’t think so. “That was a warning shot. I didn’t want a war. And I don’t. So when she grabbed my gun, I didn’t fire. Not even when she said those… things. About you, me, and… her.”

Asami may have a voice that could sell you on anything, but that wasn’t it. Not right then. And so I’m not buying. Her voice is a guitar string that’s about to break. It was fear, but not of Kuvira exactly, of something… something I can’t see. But I can see her eyes looking for it, even through that dark green. I can see them looking inwards, trying to find something. And they’re not finding it… whatever it is. 

“So…” I’m looking for anything else to talk about. I’d even settle on my calling this a date, disaster that that was. “Can I ask… how did you do…” I point to my eyes.

She smiles, and so I do too. “These? They look real, don’t they?” She pulls her eyelids apart with one hand, and presses a finger against her eye. When she removes it, there’s a floating green iris, dangling right off the tip. Or it looks that way, even if my mind isn’t read to believe it.

She walks over to me, and drops it in my palm. I still don’t believe it’s not what it looks like, which is a little ironic, considering what it does look like. My eyes know when they see an eye, even when they aren’t seeing one.

“It’s a contact lens,” she says. “But nothing like the one from when we first met. I have basic glass models for… protection. They’re awful, really. Abrasive, and incredibly uncomfortable. But these… these are better. And they should be. The whole set of colors cost me more than most people make in a year.”

My eyes are wide now. “In a year? I mean… why?”

“Why? You saw them. And look. Even from this close…” She leans in, and opens both eyes. One is her regular hue - there’s nothing regular about her eyes, though - and one is darker. Gun to my head, I couldn’t tell you which was natural, if I didn’t already know.

I nod. “Ok. So it makes for a good disguise. I don’t need to ask why you might find those useful. Not with the facial tics and voice you just showed there. For just a second, you actually became her. So you’ve clearly done this before. Many times.”

“I have,” she says, looking at the ground. Asami Sato wins… but maybe, doesn’t always like how she does it? "Never as her before. That was just a little joke. A stupid one, maybe, but still. Disguise in general, though? I have plenty of experience with that. And the contact lenses are a crucial part of it. Eyes are the windows to the soul, you know. So it helps to keep them shuttered behind false colors."

“I do know, and I get that. What I don't get, though, is how the lenses are so convincing. I just... wow.”

“One word, one answer: Liuli. He… well I don’t actually know if the person is a he or not, now that I think of it. When museums display… the person’s glass pieces, the male pronoun is always used. But we’ve never actually met, and very, very few people ever have had that pleasure. And that’s a very uncommon name. So I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. The point is, he - let’s just go with that - is the finest glass worker in the Earth Kingdom. And thus, almost certainly the finest in the world. Because- Well, do you know what glass is?”

“Sand, right? I think I’ve heard that before.”

“Well… yes and no. It’s silica, and most sand is derived from quartz, which is itself a silicon-oxygen tetrahedra. It also happens to be the second most common mineral in the continental crust. Which is to say… glass is earth. On some level.”

“So this… Liuli… he’s an earthbender?”

She smiles, and pats me on the shoulder. “A damn good one. And a damn expensive one too. But, you get what you pay for. Not all the time, but often enough to make that phrase worth repeating. What I got from Liuli is the most porous, breathable, dextrous, glass that’s ever been made. The most perfect glass that ever could be. I’m sure of that. When he sent these to me, there was a note saying I could wear them for up to six months without changing. I thought he was insane, lying, or both. But then I put them in. I could tell you how it feels, but here, this will work better…”

She’s close now, very close. I can feel her breath on me. It’s light, but it feels heavy. She pulls one of my eyes wide, and places the lens over my eye. At least I assume she does, because when she pulls her finger back, there’s nothing there at all. 

I blink. I blink harder. I squeeze my eyes like I’m trying to crack a nut, and contort my face until I hear Asami fighting back laughter.

“It feels like... nothing.”

She reaches in, opens my eye back up, and removes it. I feel her touch, but I don’t feel any absence. It’s like it was never even there. 

She replaces it, and her eyes are uniform again. They match her shirt, if not my image of her. She’s beautiful, either way. 

She smiles, and laughs just a little. “It doesn’t quite feel like nothing to me. This will sound stupid, I know. But, to me... it feels like freedom. Or a taste of it.”

“I… what?”

“The applications for my work are... obvious. As you said. But most of the time, when I do this…” She sighs, and her smile vanishes. “Well, people know me, Blue. Or they think they do. And I don’t mind, most of the time, since I can use that. My name is a weapon, and it’s one I’m happy to have. But sometimes… times like right now... when I just want to go out and…”

She pauses, and collects herself. She smiles again, and tries to laugh. But it’s a quiet thing, and it just sounds like the air is leaking out of her. 

“Times like that, I don’t want to look like Asami Sato. Times like that, I don’t really want to be Asami Sato.”

“So… who are you tonight?”

She shrugs. “Make something up. Who do you want me to be?”

“Asami.”

“Hmm?”

“What?”

“You said my name. Did you… have a question?”

I shake my head, and now I’m taking her hand, walking down the hallway. I don’t have a damn clue where I’m going, but she’s coming with me.

“That wasn’t a question.” I look her in the eyes, and I can see through the trees, right down to her roots. “It was an answer. Who do I want you to be? I want you to be Asami.”

She pulls her hand away. “You say that, but… you don’t know what that name means.”

I reach my hand out, open. She stares at it, as if it’s a trap, set to spring. 

“Then show me,” I say, trying to grin like she can, trying to speak with that voice no one can say no to. I swallow, hoping all my fear goes down. “That’s what first dates are for… right?”

She smiles, and laughs. Really smiles, and really laughs. Then, she takes my hand.

“Just one problem, Blue. With all of that.”

The fear rises up in me, and I can feel it scorching my stomach. I’m thinking maybe swallowing it was a bad idea, maybe this… all of this was a bad idea. What was I thinking? Was I even thinking? Who talks like that? And to Asami Sato? I’m her damn bodyguard. A grunt. A nobody.

“What’s that?” I manage, bracing myself. 

She tugs me back the opposite direction. “You’re walking the wrong way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per Wikipedia: "Liuli" means ancient Chinese glass/crystal. It has a lineage stretching back thousands of years, first making its appearance in the 11th century BC.
> 
> I'm not basing that person on a character from the show. It's just a little world building - or an attempt at it - on my part. But it also serves to provide important character development for Asami. 
> 
> I really love how this chapter turned out, even though, by my standards, this is all pretty fluffy. Anxiety ridden for both characters, and kind of sad... but still. It's good to know that nothing bad will happen to them for the rest of the story, and their relationship will get a chance to develop in peace.*
> 
> *May or may not be true.


	24. Chapter 24

I’ve imagined Asami stabbing me before. Right in the eyes, twisting, clawing. It’s a macabre scene, but it’s one I can’t completely remove from my mind, no matter how much I’d like to. And I’d really, really like to. 

In my mind, it’s always a knife. Of course it is. I’ve never imagined her using ribs as a weapon; but sitting on this motorcycle, my arms clenched tight around her middle, it feels like her ribs might just pop right on through my skin. And if she had to stop short, I might just end up impaled on her hip bones. 

I wonder how she’s breathing, then wonder if maybe she’s stopped. I’m certain she hasn’t, though, because I can still feel the wind’s brutal assault, lashing all about my exposed face. It feels like my cheeks are near to coming off, like my teeth might just be eroded by the time we arrive. I guess noodles are a good choice, then; I can slurp those up with nothing but gums. 

I’m grateful, actually, for the leather jacket she gave me. I’d tried to say no, assuring her that it wasn’t cold, and that it couldn’t possibly get cold enough to register as uncomfortable to me, a seasoned veteran of Water Tribe winters. She’d said that it wasn’t about how cold the air was at rest, however; it was about how the air felt when it set to moving. And besides, a Water Tribe girl needs to wear some animal skin, right?

I suppose I do, and since I didn’t bring any of my old ones with me from Sharks, this black leather is the best I’ve got. It’s pretty damn good though, at least right now. If I could see myself, I might think it looks good. Not that I look good at all, otherwise. Not while my face is clenched behind goggles, eyes held shut like they’re hiding secrets, body hunched down and into Asami, like she’s a bedsheet, and I’m hiding from a monster under the bed. 

But this isn’t a monster I can hide from, because it’s one I agreed to get on. Damn stupid decision. And why? To impress Asami? How impressed is she going to be when I’m a red stain against that tree over there? Or, well… maybe there’s a tree over there. I can’t actually tell, because I can’t see anything. Don’t want to see anything. The feelings are enough. I get the sense of the road by the movement of her body, the tilt of the bike, and the direction of the wind. Maybe I’ll crash into a tree, maybe a building, maybe I’ll just leave a long red skid on the road. Doesn’t much matter, I suppose. Doesn’t matter, because dead is dead. But at least dead means it’s over with. Dead means-

There’s a hand on my knee, and it squeezes gently. It occurs to me that Asami’s only got one hand driving the bike, but somehow that doesn’t seem important. She can drive this thing. She could probably drive it with no hands. She could probably drive it with her feet. She probably built the damn thing, after all. She can do whatever she wants.

The hand taps on my knee, like a doctor does when they want to see your reflexes. My foot does flick out, just a little, and I bring it back against the bike - against Asami - with reckless enthusiasm. 

Up against her like this… if I get close enough… if I duck my head down just a little more, let it sit in the space between her neck and shoulder, it’s like the wind just stops, like everything stops. I don’t hear any noise, and I don’t feel any movement. It’s like I’ve found a safe space, under those blankets, and I’m not moving, not for the world. Like it’s a black and cold night, and I just want to stay here.

The hand knocks my knee again, and this time there’s a laugh that comes with it. 

“Blue?”

I don’t move. I don’t speak. 

I feel her turn. Or I feel her try to. She doesn’t, though, because I don’t let her. I’m squeezing tight, and I hope I don’t break one of her ribs, because that would make me a pretty bad bodyguard, one of the worst; and besides, we’d probably have to skip this… date? Is that really what this is? I used the word and she didn’t say no… didn’t say yes, either, but she took my hand, and that was all she needed to say. All I ever needed to hear from her was that silence, voiced by her smile and her fingers, wrapped around mine. 

She tries to move again, this time with a little more force. But I don’t let her. I’m clinging like she’s the last ledge before an endless abyss. And anyway, I don’t know why she’s trying to move so much anyway, while she’d driving. I’m not exactly an expert on driving motorcycles, but I figure sitting still is important, at least. 

There’s a little gust of wind, just a tiny bit; but it’s still enough to make me flinch. It’s also enough to waft back some kind of fragrance, though. It’s not a flower or a spice, exactly, but just… her. It’s not a thing you could sell in a bottle, and if somebody tried, I think I might buy the whole stock and break them, pour them in the ocean, so that nobody else could pretend. It would be an obscene lie. 

Asami clears her throat, and I’m surprised I can hear it over the engine, even though I don’t hear the engine at all. 

“Blue, you can stop crushing me now.”

I don’t say anything, but manage to shake my head. 

She sighs. “Blue, we’ve been parked for five minutes.”

I open my eyes, relax my grip, and… well, shit. Here we are. Parked, like she said. Right in front of a noodle shop. I know, because I can see people slurping them up, through the windows. Those that are eating, that is. Most of the people inside are too busy staring at me to do anything else.

“I… um… of course we are.”

I swing myself off the bike, take off the - blue, of course - helmet and goggles, and try to strike my bravest pose. My legs wobble, and I damn near fall over. A child in the window points and laughs.

Asami pirouettes off the bike after me, and removes her helmet with a flourish, her hair dancing like ribbons made of night sky. She laughs, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s because I’m staring. 

I figure I should probably just put the goggles back on, and maybe something else over the rest of my face. But I do manage to divert my eyes, and stare at the sidewalk instead. It’s a lot less pleasant to look at, but it’s not going to make me blush, either. 

She puts a hand on my shoulder, and I don’t like the jacket so much right now. Feels like its in the way.

“You do know that wasn’t really the drive, right?”

I’m not so sure I want to eat anymore, but I still nod. “I… figured.”

“I thought I’d warm you up with a nice conservative drive into town. Then, after noodles, we could take some of the more… adventurous roads. There are some amazing views, only an hour or two outside the city. Right over the ocean, when the sun sets, it’s… well it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen.”

I smile at that. I probably have seen something like it. But, I haven’t seen the sun set over an ocean in too long. Well, it’s only been a little over a week. But it feels like longer. Feels like a lifetime ago. It’d be nice. I’m sure they’ve got some good views, and if it takes another ride to get there… well, I’ll hold on tight. Maybe not so tight, and not for quite so long. But still. 

“Now,” she says, “this place just opened. I haven’t been, but I’ve heard good things. I’ll be curious to hear your verdict. Not to stereotype, of course, and no offense-”

I put my hands up. “None taken. None at all. It’s a bit of a cliche, at this point, and we do eat other things. But my mom did make…” I let the words trail off. Stupid, to bring that up. Stupid, to-

Asami gives me a push towards the door. “It’s ok. Tell me about her.”

“I’d love to,” I agree, as we’re guided to our table by a really pretty Water Tribe girl. A little prettier than I’d like her to be, honestly. “She’s… ” I just sigh, and shake my head. “It’s hard to find the words. She’s mom! That says nothing, I know, but it says everything. There’s a reason they invented that word, you know? Because all the other words together couldn’t do the job. There’s nothing else that adds up to all that. I could tell you about her cooking, or the stories she used to tell me, or playing in the snow. All of those things are ingredients, but even if you totaled up every second we’ve ever spent together, it doesn’t come close to what she is to me.”

I smile, and see that Asami is doing the same. Her eyes are glistening, and maybe it’s moisture, maybe it’s happiness. Maybe it’s both, all mixed together. 

“Asami, I-”

She laughs. “Dammit, Blue, you better not apologize for that.”

“I…” I was about to. “Ok. Sorr-”

“And don’t be sorry that you were going to be sorry, either. It was beautiful.”

“Sorr-” I put a hand over my mouth, until I’m sure the right words are ready to come out. “I won’t be. I just don’t want to say the wrong thing.”

She rolls her eyes, then sets them, stern, right on mine. Her dark green eyes, which still seems a little off. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me, ok? That’s not a command, not a… anything like that. It’s just something I've never really had. Someone who can just… talk to me.”

I grin. It’s a little crooked, because it always is. But she doesn’t want me to be afraid, and that means showing her things that aren’t exactly perfect. “Hey, you do scare me. That’s the truth. But it’s you that does the scaring. Asami. Not Asami fucking Sato, or any of that other bullshit. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’ve imagined a hundred ways you could kill me, if I fail at this job. But that’s not why I’m nervous, right now. That’s not why I’m afraid of saying the wrong thing. I’m not afraid you’ll kill me, I’m afraid you’ll… I’m afraid you’ll-”

“Good afternoon! Can I start you two ladies with something to drink? Maybe a soda, some coffee, some tea?” 

The Water Tribe waitress. She’s got the characteristic complexion, and bright blue eyes, set in a sharp, almost birdlike face. The eyes are nearly too big for their frame, almost like a caricature. Almost. But still pretty damn cute. Her long black hair is tied back in a neat ponytail. Nothing fancy, but very- 

“Water is fine for me,” says Asami. I’m staring at her, trying to get a read on what she means by that. Water? Does she just want a glass of water, or does she want… something more? Does she want water, or Water Tribe? Does she mean that she wants her? And right in front of me! I could just-

“She’s a little shy, sorry. Just water for both of us. Thanks.”

The waitress walks away, and Asami raises a single eyebrow.

“What was that?”

I want to hide under the table, or maybe even jump on the motorcycle, and drive off. Even if I wreck, that might be ok.

Instead, I just rub my eyes. “That was… listen, I know you said I shouldn’t be saying sorry, but that was for other stuff, so sorry for that. For this.”

Asami switches eyebrows. “For what?”

“Don’t make me say it… you know.”

She shrugs. “I honestly have no idea.”

The waitress brings the waters, and Asami smiles at her, nods. I could swear her eyes linger for just a moment, as the girl turns to walk away. We haven’t even opened our menus yet, so she doesn’t ask if we’re ready to order. Of course, maybe Asami’s doing that on purpose. Maybe she just wants to see her walk back and forth, back and forth. The pants she’s wearing are a little tight. I-

I plant my face on the table, and groan. “The Water Tribe… thing…”

“Blue, don’t say it to the table. I can’t understand a word you just said.”

I look up, and swallow. “The Water Tribe… thing. People told me about that. And she’s cute! I mean, I’m not saying I’m interested. I’m just saying that-”

“That I only hired you in the first place - that I only want you around at all - because I have some… Water Tribe weakness? That is what they call it, right?”

I nod, and stare at my water. 

“Well…” she laughs. “I can’t say that I’m surprised. I did spend the last few months looking for a young and attractive waterbender. People hear that, and I imagine they assume my interests were not strictly work related.”

“So you were looking for someone like me when I arrived? Wait... I mean, I’m not saying I’m attractive, exactly. But I’m not saying I’m not, either. I’m just… uh, trying to seem humble and confident, in just the right balance, and it’s not working. So... your men didn’t just find me on accident?”

“Blue, in this town, there are no accidents. Only things I want to happen, and things I don’t. And I wasn’t looking for someone like you, when you arrived. I was looking for you. Exactly. I read the papers. And I talk to people. I learned all about your accepting bribe money, down South. And I heard you were on your way to Republic City. So I figured, here we have a young and attractive waterbender, out of work, desperate for money. And here I am, needing someone just like that. After all, I’m heading into a potential - and as it turned out, actual - war zone, that just so happens to have a very prominent fountain. So, I’d like someone who can use that. But, I’d also like someone who can mask those skills behind a pretty face. People are always happy - often fatally so - to underestimate a beautiful woman. Anyway, you know how that went… what happened after… and why you’re here.”

I should feel used, maybe, but at this point I’m numb to it. A pawn doesn’t mind being moved one square forward. I might even be a little flattered, actually. Asami Sato chose me. Well, sort of. Eventually.

“So that Water Tribe… preference, it’s not true?”

“Well… I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”

I pause. “Then what would you say?”

She’s blushing now. Almost. Maybe. “I’d say that I don’t have a type. Not really. But if I did… yes, it would look a lot like you.”

I think… maybe that’s a compliment. I’m not sure, but I want it to be. As it settles in my stomach, though, it feels a little sour. “Just… sorry I brought it up. It’s stupid.”

She laughs. “Honestly? It’s kind of cute. Blue, turning all green with envy, and red with rage. You’re a veritable spectrum. And over a few girls whose names I can’t even remember, because I never bothered to learn them. You, on the other hand… I’ve gone so far as to give you a name.”

“That was the first night, though. I imagine you were planning on disposing of me, at that point.”

She shrugs. “Of course I was. But plans change. So here I am, and here you are. For reasons that extend well beyond your bending. Well beyond your obvious utility. I was looking for a simple tool, and instead found an intricate machine. But we’ve… I’ve told you that already.” A shadow goes over her face, and then is quickly gone. She grins mischievously, banishing it. “And I’ve never taken another girl on a motorcycle before, if that makes you feel better.” 

It does. Somehow. And I hated that damn bike… right up until she made it about... that. 

I smirk. “Well, you’ve never had a personal bodyguard before.”

“Exactly right,” she says.

And it’s true. It is exactly right. That is what I am. But it’s… not exactly what I wanted to hear, either. 

Asami reaches across the table, and grabs my hand. “But this isn’t work, right now. You don’t start bodyguard duty until tomorrow, remember?”

I smile. “Yeah. You gave me the day off. Thanks boss.”

She shrugs, and puts on a devil’s grin. “Oh, you’re welcome. But it’s not exactly that. More like a day of… unemployment.” She winks, and tosses her hair. “You did one job. It ended, and so did your duties with us. I’ve offered you another job, which starts tomorrow. So, right now, this isn’t work.”

I try to match her grin, but can’t. I try to find clever words, but they’re gone too. So I say the only ones I have left. “So… what is this, then? If I’m not on the clock?”

She glances down at the table, pauses, like she’s reading the answer there, then back up at me. “It’s the present, Blue. And for people like us, that’s all we ever get. You look to the past, and it’s nothing but blood… trust me. You look to the future, and it’s the same shade of red, on and on forever. So we have now. And that’s it. But that’s something. So… let’s just enjoy it. While we can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Korra is smitten, jealous, confused, conflicted, and ultimately, still hungry, because their waitress really isn't very good. It's all a little awkward, but then that's first dates for you. I mean, if it's a date. 
> 
> Anyway, this is my longest chapter so far, and it's not close. About 900 words longer than second place. Now, I post relatively short chapters, but even still, there's some meat here. (And I'm a vegetarian.) I really, really wanted the dialogue to work, and to do work. As in, it needs to advance the characters, but also drop a little plot nugget or two. For that reason, this was both the easiest and hardest chapter to write, so far. Easiest, because I had so many words coming. Hardest, because so many of those words weren't doing any damn work. And, believe it or not, despite my rambling narration style, I do try to only include things that matter. That are, to quote an old teacher, doing work. So I wrote about 5000 words, and trimmed it down close to 3000. Which is what you have here.


	25. Chapter 25

My eyes are open. Seeing us drift into corners, around the bends, up the hills, down the road. My eyes are open. It’s not that the fear’s gone out of me… so much as I’ve just silenced it. Or she has. Without saying a thing. Without doing a thing.

Except being present. And that’s a pretty big something. 

I try to tell myself it’s the noodles. At least a little bit. Maybe I was hungry on that first drive; maybe I was feeling weak, and that made me more afraid than usual. Maybe I was holding on to Asami so damn tight because I just couldn’t hold on otherwise, and she was there. Now, with a full stomach, maybe I’m better off. And it’s true, I am. But while the noodles were good, they weren’t that good. They weren’t my mom’s. Of course, maybe that’s sentiment talking. You taste with all the senses, they say, and while they don’t say nostalgia is a sense, I’ll go ahead and say it for them. 

Still, though not living up to my memories of home, the noodles were good enough for me to order a second helping, and put it in a to go box. Asami had protested, saying we had all the food in the world, right at home. Home? I laugh. Already, huh? But I had insisted, and she had relented. After all, I said, she was paying for this date, so I needed to get all the free stuff I could. She asked what else I wanted from her, tonight, and I just blushed, and mumbled something I can’t remember at the moment. Probably for the best. 

The noodles are in her leather saddlebag now. She didn’t like that, exactly. She made a face as I slid them in, the broth sloshing in the styrofoam container, but she didn’t say anything. When I asked if it was ok, or if she would rather I just held on to box, she said I needed to hold on to her instead. I mumbled something again, and again, I can’t remember the words now. Those words are probably best forgotten too.

But she was right. I needed to hold on to her, and so that’s what I’m doing. Eyes open, watching the sweeping vistas and valleys pass by, but all I’m focusing on is my fingers, the feeling of her stomach going in and out, with each breath, against my hand. The feeling of life in her. She told me it was all gone, a little while back. But I know better now. I’ve seen a spark, and I want to add kindling. 

We’re driving for an hour, then more, and my grip is relaxing, my hands laying in her lap, against her hips. My chin rests on her shoulders. My eyelids are bobbing like the bike, going up and down hills, but not because I’m afraid. Because I’m relaxed. I could sleep here, I realize. Right on the bike. Though the bike is beside the point. I could sleep here because she’s here. Because I’m pressed up against her back, hands around her, breathing her in. I purse my lips slightly, and brush them against her shoulder. It could be the wind, and it could be nothing. I’m sure she doesn’t notice. I’m not sure if I want her to or not. 

The ocean is coming into view, a blue forever, disappearing over the horizon. I smile, and I couldn’t do anything else. The movement brushes my lips against her shoulder again, and I think she flinches. Maybe I imagine it. I pull back, but only just. Only the slightest amount, to allow the idea of air to come between us. But nothing more than that. 

I look out at the water, and whisper “blue”. That puts a smile inside me. Blue means something different now. It’s the sea, and it’s me. Water Tribe girl, though, so it feels right. But that’s not the only reason why. Not even the biggest one.

I tighten my arms around her waist, and I’m not afraid, not at all. My eyes are open, and fear has leaked right out of them.

\-----

We slow to a stop beside the road, in the middle of dense woods. Deep green, like her false eyes. Asami is looking at the trees like they’re roadsigns, but I can’t read the markings. I don’t know where we are, and I don’t know where to go. She does, though.

She aims the bike to the right, straight off the road.

“Hang on,” she says.

I already am, but I give a little extra squeeze, just to make sure she knows I’m listening.

We go bumping across the dirt, over rocks and roots, and it seems a pretty reasonable thing to do, right now. Well, not reasonable exactly, but safe. Because I’m not going to fall. I’m not going to get hurt. I can’t, not right now. It was a stupid thing to worry about before, and it would be now. Asami wins, and I’m on her team. So I’m set on winning too. 

It’s a funny thing, being sure of that. Asami herself said that the future was a big red unknown; but then she’s also said that nothing goes on in Republic City without her knowing. Of course, we’re not in Republic City right now. So it could get red, and maybe she wouldn’t know. But it seems like she knows where we’re going, so I don’t think so. She’s glancing at trees, at rocks, reading the signs, until we’re a ways off the road. I don’t know how far, but I can’t see it anymore.

She pats me on the leg. “We’re here.”

I pause for a moment, then two, trying to see how long I can leave my hands in place.

She laughs. “Blue… we’re parked. You can open your eyes.”

“They’ve been open,” I say. “That was a nice drive.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Why so brave, all of a sudden?”

“Not brave. Brave is being afraid of a thing, and facing it anyway. I figured out that I wasn’t going to get hurt, so all the fear went out of me.”

“Oh… well, how did you manage that calculation?”

I laugh. “I didn’t figure it in the way you figure things. Not with calculations. I just knew it.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

She stands up off the bike, pulls her helmet off, and sets her hair to dancing. I can almost hear the tune, and the choreography is perfect, like always. I wonder how she does that. Maybe she’s an airbender, in secret, and just uses it for that purpose. She could do worse.

I relax my grip, let her go, and dislodge my helmet. I feel like my hair is going a thousand different directions. Asami turns, stifles a laugh, and now I know that it’s two thousand. 

“Here,” she says, and sets to fixing me right up. I close my eyes, and let her fingers work. She’s done quickly, and so maybe I should’ve messed my hair up worse. She shows me my reflection in her goggles, and I smile back at myself. 

“Thanks,” I say.

She just nods, and grabs my hand. We’re walking, and I can smell the sea. We’re close, very close, and after a few steps, we’re there. Well, there, plus a hundred vertical feet. We’re standing at the top of a white cliff, like blanched bones, forest at our backs, looking out at the ocean.

“So blue,” she says.

I nod. 

Her shoulder bumps into mine. “I was talking about these,” she whispers, and pokes at my eyes.

I flinch away, and laugh. I damn near trip over a knee high rock, but Asami catches me.

She kneels down next to it, pulling me down with her. “Here”, she says, pointing at some faint scratches on the surface. She smiles, and it’s a smile that’s tasting nostalgia. “It’s a little hard to make out… but… I think you can still see…”

I lean in as close as I can, but I can’t manage to read it. “What’s it say?”

She points to the scratches on the left. “YS.” Then, to the scratches on the right. “AS”. Finally, to a little loop beneath them. “This is the number six.”

I scratch the back of me head. “So… did a couple teenagers put their initials here, instead of on a tree?”

She shakes her head. “No. I can see why you’d think that, because… well, it’s not entirely unlike that. Affection is involved, and it’s two people. But still, no. Not at all. It’s just…” She sighs. “This was were she took me, on my sixth birthday. The last birthday we shared. She could buy me anything, of course. But this place was my present. She said it would be mine… ours. So we signed our initials here, to make it official.” A tear rolls down her cheek. “The best view of the sunset anywhere. We sat here, up against this rock, and watched it.” 

I reach up, and wipe the tear away. More come, and I can’t keep up. I want to bend them away, but my hands are busy now, tight around her shoulders. I’m hugging her, saying nothing, because there’s nothing to say. She’s sobbing.

Moments pass, become minutes, and she runs out of tears. She doesn’t move. 

The sun is lower now, and the sky is red. 

“Sorry,” she says, pulling away, and leaning against the rock. 

I follow, and take her hand. “Don’t be.” 

She squeezes. “This isn’t exactly what I had planned. Please know that. I mean…” she just waves her free hand. “This… I said today was supposed to be about the present, right? Not the past… I know a hundred other places around here I could’ve taken you to… that I was going to take you to. I wanted to have fun! And instead… I bring it back to this. I just started driving, started walking… I didn’t mean it, exactly, but I just couldn’t go anywhere else.”

“It’s ok if you did mean it. Or even if you didn’t. It’s just… it’s ok.”

She shakes her head. “No. No, it’s not. This… this is why I don’t even try. Why I shouldn’t.” She points to the stone. “At my back, death.” She points to the sky. “Forward, there’s nothing but red.” She pulls her hand away.

Or she tries, but I don’t let her.

“I can’t do anything about the past. I’ll give you that. But you hired me for the present, and for the future. Even if it’s red. Especially if it is.”

“Then maybe I shouldn’t have hired you. Maybe it was stupid, selfish.” She inhales, and looks me square in the eyes. “You could quit. I could get you back South, or find you another job here, one without-” 

“No.” I return her stare. “No, I… I need to stay. Remember what you told me, about drowning in that sea of red? Well I was there too. I still am. And I don’t… I don’t want to go under again. So it’s not selfish, on your part, not at all. Because I… I need this too. I need to stay.” I point to the sky. “See that? That red in the sky? That red in the future? It’s not just yours. It’s mine too. It’s ours, whether we want it or not.” 

Her eyes are tied to mine, and we don’t move except for blinking, breathing, and the beating of our hearts. And even those things seem to stop, to stretch out over this moment like well worn leather. 

“Can I kiss you?” The words tumble out of my mouth, and they’re awkward, ugly. I want them to miss, to fly over her head, or into the dirt. But they’re headed straight for her.

She grins, then smiles, then laughs. Her forehead leans up against mine. She’s lurching against me again, but she’s not sobbing, not this time. This time, she’s hysterical. “Fuck, Blue. No! I mean, not now. Not after you ask me.” She pats me on the cheek. “But thank you. For the laugh. For everything. I feel better. Really.”

I just groan. “Asami, I-”

She’s kissing me, and after a very brief forever, I’m kissing her too, and that moment is now stretched beyond imagination, torn to pieces. It’s tattered, everywhere and nowhere, and I feel just about the same. 

We break, and share a breath. Eyes closed, but still seeing. 

“Blue?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind if we… just sat here? For another hour or so?”

“I think that’d be perfect.”

Another moment begins, and then dies, shattered by a gunshot.

We twist away from the red that’s in front of us, and turn to see nothing but red behind. Ten men, wearing deep red jackets, pants, and scarves. They’ve got rifles trained on us, and eyes hungry for blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An emotional chapter. Romantic, in a very tragic sort of way. And then that ending. I imagine that ending will not make me any friends. But I'll update Saturday night/Sunday morning, right around midnight, Eastern time. So I won't drag it out too long.


	26. Chapter 26

A one hundred foot drop, at our backs. I could bend the water all the way up here… maybe. But it’s a hard thing, reaching that far. And they’d notice my movements for sure, before the water got close.

Maybe… maybe we could jump? I could bend the water, try to catch us. Pull it up, as we drop, slowing out descent and angling us away from the rocks. It would be tough, and it… probably wouldn’t work. Given our height, the impact would be too great, even if we just hit the water, nevermind the rocks. But of course, I do have to mind the rocks. Those I can see, and those I can’t. They probably extend out another hundred feet from where I can see, and I can’t bend us away from a bloody landing if I don’t know where it is.

And even if I could, even if all that worked, we’d be easy targets for them to rain bullets down on. I could bend the currents, of course, pull us out to sea… but what then? I could pull us along the coast, but the road sticks close enough that they could follow easily, and be there when we’re forced to shore.

I can’t do the calculations in my head, not like Asami. I don’t know the odds we’d survive any of that; but that’s probably for the best. And anyway, whatever the odds, they’re sure to be higher than standing here, and getting pumped full of bullets.

Still, as we stand, I flip the cap off my water flask. Asami reaches for her gun-

Another shot, fired by a man stepping forward from the center. He doesn’t hit Asami, because he didn’t want to. His eyes say that much, and so does his aim; well over her shoulder.

“Palms up, and out. Both of you.” His voice is raspy, broken. Talking through the scarf, which is wrapped around the bottom half of his face - like all the others - it’s damn had to make out what he’s saying. I’m trying though. Really hard.

Asami complies, and I do too. She’s scanning, back and forth, and I can see her eyes running numbers, scenarios. Asami wins… but Asami wins because she prepares. Because she dictates the terms of the encounter, and then exploits them. I can see fear in her now, doubt. Because she didn’t design any of this, and she doesn’t know what to do.

It’s my fault. She wouldn’t be here, if it wasn’t for me. And even if she did drive out, by herself, she would’ve been more aware. Maybe she would’ve had her gun at the ready, rather than packed away. Maybe she would’ve heard them approach. Maybe, but she didn’t. Because I was here, distracting her. Kissing her, instead of doing my damn job. And now she’s going to die. Because of me.

The man points to me. “We know who you are, and what you are. Start any of that bending shit, and it’s over. If one finger so much as moves, or I feel one drop of water, you’re dead.” He points at Asami. “And you…” He laughs, and it sounds like he swallowed a baby's rattler. “I know all about what you’re capable of. If your hands move, we’ll shoot you also. But not too much. I don’t actually want to kill you. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I am going to kill you. But if I could bring you to the edge of death, and just let you dangle forever… I would. Or at least, for five years.”

His eyes narrow, and he steps forward, twisting the scarf off his face. He’s a man in his middle years, I think, but it’s hard to tell. His face is all pockmarked, and part of his left cheek is missing. The flesh that is there is knotted, like a gnarled old tree. Across his throat, there’s a thick rope of scar. All the way across. That explains his voice.

“I don’t expect you to recognize me, Asami. Shit, I barely recognize you. Longer hair now, and… how many eye colors do you have, exactly? And how many names?” He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. I know it’s you. We were told you'd be here, at some point. And that you'd probably look a little different. She knew all about your disguises. She also told us that you'd probably bring her with you. As for me, all you need to know are these two things: First, I was there, that night, five years ago. You gave me these scars, and seven more where your bullets entered. You gave me other scars too, that no one can see. And second: I’m going to hurt you far, far worse.”

Asami’s eyes are steel. “Shoot me, then. Burn me. You are a firebender, I presume? Agni Kai scum often were.”

He laughs, then breaks into a fit of coughing. “No. Well, yes. Eventually. We will burn you alive. Very, very slowly. And your friend too.”

“She had nothing to do with it.”

“And everyone you killed was a guilty party?” He spits.

“Guilty enough. Anyone who would associate with the people who killed… who killed her…”

He smiles, and the entire left side of his jaw is visible. “Ah, I see that wound still bleeds. Good. You see, we are going to kill you. Slowly. Painfully. But not quite yet. I want to hurt you in… other ways, first.”

“There’s nothing you can say that will make a damn bit of difference to me.”

“Oh? How about this? I shot her. Of the six bullets that ended her life, that tore open her chest, two belonged to me.”

Asami is trembling, her muscles fighting to move, to lunge forward, bullets and flame be dammed. She could get there, to him, before she died. And it would all be worth it. Two bodies, hurled into the void.

His smile grows. “I thought you might enjoy that. To know that your revenge is incomplete, that you will die with it unfinished. I also thought you might like a little story. About how it happened. As I recall, you were very young then. Six, is that right?”

Tears are running down Asami’s face again. She can’t wipe them away, and neither can I. They’d shoot me. Still, it’s hard. It’s hard to see her hurt, and do nothing.

“That’s right,” she whispers. “And I don’t need your story. I saw enough. And I’ve read everything. A robbery gone wrong, then a murder. Or maybe intimidation. People have different ideas. But we don't know.” All the steel has gone out of her. She’s done calculating. She knows how this ends.

And I think… I think that I do too. If they drop their guns, even just a little… I’m jumping. I’m grabbing her, and I’m jumping. So keep talking, asshole. Maybe your men will get lazy. We’ll probably die, but it’ll be a quick death. At least, quicker than what they’re offering. And maybe we’ll live. There’s a chance. Not a good one, but a bad chance is better than no chance at all.

He coughs again, and spits up a large wad of something black. “Excuse me, but that’s exactly why you need to listen. You may not know, but I do. It wasn't a robbery, and it wasn't intimidation. We were there to kill your parents. Nothing short of that. Yasuko had a nasty philanthropic habit, donated to clean politicians, and generally tried to end our way of life. So we decided to kill her. And Hiroshi too, if only for the fun of it.”

Asami's hands flinch. So do nine trigger fingers.

“That pain on your face… It’s more satisfying than I could have hoped, honestly. So let me continue. We-”

“Stop… please.”

“Please? Please? From Asami Sato? Did you listen to please, five years ago?”

She is still, silent.

“That’s what I thought. You’ll listen to this. Every word. You’ll hear how your mother died before squeezing one round from her shiny toy gun. How your father fled like a coward to some hidden safe room. How we lit the whole place up, rather than wait him out..." his voice trails off. "How that cost us. How the fire, with no starter, was damning evidence. How a still very alive Hiroshi Sato started paying off our connections, and killing those he couldn't. How he bought the justice system, sent our bosses to jail, and then took everything we had. We were so powerful, then, but so arrogant. We didn't even consider subtlety, because we were untouchable." He grits his teeth. "Maybe I'll skip all that, actually. Maybe I'll just stick with the part about your mother, bleeding out on the floor. And Asami, I really like that part. If you interrupt me, we’ll get to work on your friend. You’ll get to watch her burn. Hear her scream, until the only thing that’s left is the smell of burnt meat.”

The guns are still trained right on us. Fingers on triggers. I scan, back and forth, back and forth, trying to find a weak link in the armor.

The man on the far right is staring at me. Ember eyes, and I can see his jaw moving under the scarf. Chewing on something. No… chewing on… on nothing. He nods, winks. Then glances down at his fingers. All five of them are up, and there’s a tiny ball of flame there, hidden in his palm. He begins to count down, and I nod back.

“So let's start with the look on her face. The fear was so thick you could taste it, and-”

A wall of flame erupts across the line, and I hear the rounds exploding in their clips, the screams of men lit on fire, and eating jagged metal.

At the same time, I grab Asami, turn my back on the explosion, and pull her behind the rock. She goes easily, like all the strength had already left her body. Like she’s already dead.

I feel a searing heat on my neck, and hear metal bounce off the stone. There’s gunfire, from one direction, and then the screams are gone. I look out across the sky, squeeze Asami, and think the sky is a deeper red.

We pause, breath. We wait until there's the sound of a car starting, then driving away. The fog disappears from Asami’s eyes, and I feel movement come back to her. She squeezes me, then pulls out her gun, pushes herself up, using the rock as cover.

“We’re clear,” she says. And it’s her voice, again.

I look myself, and there are nine bodies, bloodied and burnt. But there's not a tenth. I sigh with relief, and whisper a silent thanks. I don't want Asami to hear his name. I don't want her to know. The smell of overcooked meat hits my nose, and I choke back the urge to vomit. I need to be strong now. For Asami. She doesn’t need another night, taking care of me. Certainly not tonight.

She walks forward, and begins inspecting the bodies, probing them all with her boot first, then checking for breath, and a pulse.

She finds what she’s looking for in a singed not-yet-corpse, and pulls the man up by his hair, shoving her pistol in his mouth.

“I’m going to ask you some questions. Then, I’m going to remove this pistol. When I do, answers better follow it. Who are you? Collectively.”

He’s trembling, shaking. Not from fear, but from death spasms. He’s knocking on the door.

“People who lost family at the Last Dance. Except for the man you spoke to. He was there, and he survived. We’re would-be Agni Kai. Dedicated to revenge against you. For what you did.”

If she’s moved by that, it doesn’t show. “How did you find this place?”

“She told us, just a couple days back. She said you’d come here, that you told her about it, years ago. We posted a scout here, and kept ourselves camped nearby.”

“Who is this she? I never told anyone about this place.”

He shrugs, and coughs up blood on Asami. She doesn’t flinch. “Whatever you say. She was right though, you have to admit. But I… I don’t know who she is. I just know she was called a she, by our boss there. She gave us information, and armed us.” He points a shaking finger at the scarred man’s corpse. Shot all full of holes, right in the back. I notice, for the first time, that I don’t recognize their rifles. Not at all. It’s got a wooden stock, and a large clip, curved like a banana. Asami glances at it, and I see her surveying with engineer’s eyes. I don’t see recognition there, either.

Asami tightens her grip on the gun. “I’ll find out, whether you tell me or not. It will be much, much easier if you just talk.”

“I honestly don’t know, ok? He never really told us much, just-”

Asami strikes him across the face with her pistol. “You don't know? Bullshit.”

He’s sobbing, and choking on the blood in this throat. It’s an awful sound. She raises her hand again, and I run forward, grabbing it.

She glares. “Let go of me.”

I don’t. “Asami, I… you don’t have to do this. He either knows or he doesn’t. You can’t beat knowledge out of him that he doesn’t even have.”

Her eyes are hard, but a little less cruel. Calculating again. Some sense of rationality returning to them. Her arm goes limp, and she collapses into me.

She’s trembling with fear, rage, and under the weight of a life spilling over with tragedy, with death, that just recieved more of both. No matter how tight I hold her, she doesn’t stop shaking. It’s coming from down deep, from a place I can’t reach.

Looking over her shoulder, my eyes half open, I see a glint of metal. A rifle being raised in a trembling hand, slowly, coming nearly level with Asami’s back. I fling a shard of ice from my water flask, directing the rifle's aim to the left of us. In nearly the same motion, I grab the gun from Asami’s hand - which gives it willingly - and fire, the trigger yielding over and over, the bullets issuing forth until there aren’t any more left. I keep squeezing, though. I keep squeezing until the clicking is the only rhythm I know, sounding out the beat of my own heart.

Asami has my hand, and she’s lowering it. I hear her voice, but not her words. It’s a deep, dark red, and so I can’t quite tell what she’s saying. It’s all impossible to know. She’s pulling, though, which is an easy enough thing, since we were already together. Since we were already holding on. I’m nearing the surface, seeing a bright sphere above, and as I break the surface, there’s an image of something nearby. An island. The smallest thing, just a single stone. But she swims for it, pulling me along, until we’re seated there.

“Blue.”

I’m looking out across the ocean at the blood red sky. It belongs to us. I said it before, but I know it now.

Asami takes the spent gun from me. “Thanks.”

“No.”

“You can’t say no to someone’s thank you.”

“You can when it’s your fault in the first place. I distracted you. I put your back to him. I invited him to shoot you.”

“And then you stopped him.”

“I killed him.”

“Yes. You had to.”

“You never have to. There’s always-”

“Have you ever read _The Tempest_ , Blue?”

I try to laugh, just a little. “I was supposed to a couple times. They always teach it, down South. It’s about a powerful waterbender. At least, I think it is.”

“What’s past is prologue. Do you know that line, from it?”

I nod. “Everybody’s heard that.”

“And yet nobody gets it right.” Asami sighs. “People make it sound so damn optimistic. Like the past and the present are divorced. What’s done is done; we move forward, with clean slates.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No. I know better. And I know the context for the quote in the first place. Two characters are about to commit a murder. It’s used to mean that this action is a given, a ripple necessitated by a stone dropped in the pond, some time ago.”

“So, what I did…”

“A ripple. You didn’t have a choice. No one here did, tonight. They killed my mother, so I killed them. Now, they try to kill me, and… well, I can’t really explain why some traitor saved us. But we’ll find out. Anyway, then this guy tries to kill me, so you kill him.”

“So what’s the point, then? If it’s all... done. Decided.”

“Who said there has to be a point?”

“I guess nobody did. But it’d be nice.”

“If it’d be nice, then it’s probably not so. Not here, at least.”

“So we just float?”

“We just float.”

“At least… at least we have someone to float with. That’s something.”

She squeezes my hand. “It is.”

We watch the sun disappear below the horizon, until the red is all soaked up in black. I can’t see it, but I know better than to think it’s gone. It’s always there, I know that.

“Let’s go,” says Asami, standing. “We have a full day tomorrow. And then more full days, after that. Especially given what happened tonight. We need to find out who ordered this, and how they knew we’d be here. I haven’t told one person of this place, so he was lying about that ‘she’. And those guns… they aren’t Satos. We need to find out how they got them, and who made them. I need to take one back to the shop, and inspect it. Finally, we’ve got a job for my father. It’s a bit of a bitch, but aren’t they always? For now, though… just one thing…”

I stand as well, and walk with her. “What’s that?”

“We don’t mention this to my father. If he knows… well, he’ll put a fence up around the house, and we’ll be caged birds, singing a sad song.”

“Ok,” I say. Silence is an easy thing for me now.

The bike cuts through the black night, and I can’t see any of the views from earlier. It’s cloudy, dark. Like the air is surrounding you, threatening to swallow you up. I hold on tight to Asami, trusting that she’ll keep me safe. Maybe she thinks the same about me now. I did kill that man. Right or not, it was the only thing to do. I was just riding out a ripple.

I wonder where it’s carrying me, where it’s carrying us. We’re still together, after all. Hanging to each other like lone survivors of a shipwreck. We’re each other’s driftwood.

The road goes on, and so do we. My head is on her shoulder, and her smell slowly fills my nostrils, replacing the stench of seared flesh. Even thinking about that, even while swinging around turns, I don’t vomit. Not this time. I don’t even feel sick. A little sad, maybe. But mostly just numb. It’s not even that what I did was right - although it was, I think - so much as it wasn’t even me doing it. Not if Asami’s right. When he raised his gun, he was shooting himself. I just acted out the scene. Past is prologue, and all that.

But… I don’t want that to be true. About that one thing, I want Asami to be wrong. I don’t want to have shot the guy… but I’d like the freedom not to shoot someone else, in the future.

The lights of Republic City come into view, like stars in the dirt, aspiring towards the sky. They’re reaching up, but nothing much gets out of Republic City, I don’t think.

The estate comes into view, on the city’s outskirts. It’s a mammoth thing, still, a mountain range and all that I thought earlier… but it puts a little flicker of warmth inside of me, this time, rather than awe. It’s the suggestion of home. Of safety. I lean into Asami, pressing as tight as I can, without pushing her off the bike. I’m glad she’s taking us there.

\-----

We don’t speak, once the engine stops. Nor do we say a word as we walk into the house, through the labyrinth of hallways. Asami’s just looking forward, and I’m looking at her, looking forward.

She reaches my door, gives my hand a squeeze. “Night.”

She turns quickly to walk away, and I feel her fingers escape mine. That little ember of warmth in my chest goes out, and I know it’s not about the house. It never was.

“Asami, hey, would you-”

“Don’t ask me to come in, Blue. Please.”

My hand is still dangling, reaching out for her. It looks sad, so I pull it back. “Why not?” Oh. I put my hands over my mouth. “No! I mean, I wasn’t asking for that. I won’t try anything, promise.”

She laughs. “You really did miss all those hints I was hitting you with earlier, didn’t you?”

“I… guess?”

“If this night had ended almost any other way, I’d have wanted you to try something. To try lots of things, actually.”

My face is burning, and I shuffle my feet. “I’ll… uh, keep that in mind? But anyway, no, I wasn’t asking for that. I just... don’t want to be alone tonight. Given what happened. Why can’t I ask for that?”

“Because…” she turns, and faces me. “Because I don’t think I could tell you no.”

“Wait… and why is that a problem?”

“Because I should. Because I have to.”

I take a step towards her. “You can do what you want.”

She leans against the wall. “No. You saw what happened, Blue. I gave them that chance, and it was luck, dumb fucking luck, that saved us. That doesn’t happen. Not to me. Not ever. And it can’t, not again.”

“And you gave them that chance because of me. It’s my fault.”

I’d thought that already, but now that she confirms it, I know it’s the case. I turn towards the door, and am stopped by her hand on my shoulder.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

I swing my head around to look at her. Really look deep. “Then tell me what you’re saying. Please.”

“Blue, no. I… it’s just… we can’t…”

“Why not?”

She sighs. “I don’t know.”

“Because you’re afraid?”

She doesn’t say anything.

“I understand. I’m afraid. More than a little. But… well, when I was scared on that bike, you know what fixed it?”

She raises an eyebrow.

I take a deliberate step forward, closing the space between us. I put my arms around her shoulders, and squeeze. I feel her hands on the small of my back, just barely.

“You fixed it,” I say. “And that’s as it should be. You kept me afloat. Now, let me do the same for you. That’s the deal. That’s what I’m here for… remember?” I laugh a little. “And anyway, I’m your damn bodyguard. If we stay like this, we can watch each other’s backs. It’s safer, really, if you think about it.”

I feel her hands pull away slowly, lingering for a moment, then vanishing. She takes a step back, and I let her.

I pinch my eyes together. It’s a stupid thing, to be hurt by this. It would be worse to show it, though. I just nod. “Ok. I don’t want to be alone tonight, Asami. And I don’t think you do either. But if I’m wrong… ok then, I’m wrong.”

“I don’t want to be. I have to be. It’s different. I don’t have a choice.”

I shake my head. “You do. I’m going to bed now, but I’m leaving my door open. There’s your choice. I want you to follow me, but I’m not going to pressure you.”

I turn, and walk through the door. I begin peeling my clothes off, slowly, deliberately. Maybe she’ll come. If I give her enough time. If I stretch these moments out long enough, if it just stays night, she’ll have to, eventually.

But she doesn’t. I wander to the wardrobe, and find pants and a shirt that are loose, comfortable, and blue. There are a thousand things that match those descriptors, so it’s not hard. I slip them on, not wanting to feel exposed tonight. Not any more than I already do.

I flip off the lights, and fold myself into bed. It’s lonely, and cold. I close my eyes, and just see black, like that night sky, which I know is really soaked full with red. I see it coming forward now, enveloping me. It’s cold, a lifeless mass, taking hold of me, pulling me down, down, down. I feel it in my mouth, my lungs, and I’m coughing, choking, but I can’t get it out. I can’t get it out, because it’s everywhere, it’s everything, so I settle in, accepting the inevitable-

“You ok, Blue?”

I’m in bed. It’s warm, and I’m not alone. I feel her pressed up against my back, arms around me.

“I am. You?”

Her lips brush against my shoulder. “Not bad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, yeah, I'm stealing a Shakespeare play - only it's about a waterbender now, because of course it is - and putting it in this AU. The quote worked too well not to use, and I regret nothing.
> 
> This now is my longest chapter, because it was going to be two, but I just didn't want to break it. In terms of flow, it felt like it needed to be one piece. So that's what we have.
> 
> And what we have is... pretty important, and pretty busy. I loved writing this, because there's so much going on; and I hated writing it, because there's so much going on. Every single plot thread is here, and there's some very heavy character moments too. It all just feels so, for lack of a better term, noirish.


	27. Chapter 27

I wake up, feeling six different kinds of hung over. Or maybe more than that. Can’t tell, exactly. I can’t tell, and I can barely convince myself that any of that was real, that yesterday happened at all. Asami and I… we… well, she kissed me. Because I asked permission. Which was… not my smoothest moment. Maybe my least smooth, ever. It’s not like I haven’t done that before. I didn’t spend my whole life down South, walled up in a compound, away from all human contact. No, I had human contact. That kind included.

But she was - is - different. The omnipresent threat of her killing you is one thing, and for people who like danger, it’s probably a little intoxicating. I thought I was one of those once. That’s what I came to this city, looking for. Ready to play the hero detective, just like in the movers. But there’s something else to her, that I can’t quite name. That I can’t even find, to give it a name. A kind of… need. More than a want. More than desire. A feeling that, well, she’s keeping me up, and I’m keeping her up. If either of us moved, we’d both fall.

I yawn, and stretch my limbs out. They don’t find Asami. They don’t even find an indentation, or warmth where she was. Or where I think she was. I roll over, and place my palm where she might of been, wondering if I can feel the memory of her in the sheets. Self consciously, I glance about the room, and sniff the pillow. It’s been fluffed back up to full size, but there’s no mistaking her lingering scent. I smile. Then, I laugh. She made her half of the bed, without waking me.

There’s a knock on the door, and a man’s voice. “Coffee, ma’am?”

I rub my eyes, and think that yes, I probably need more than you have. “Sure. Just, uh, come in? I don’t really know how this works.”

He opens the door, and brings a silver tray, with a glass carafe and a ceramic cup, and sets it on a stand next to my bed. He’s dressed impeccably, and is older than I’d guess, given the precision of his movements. He pours one cup of coffee, and it’s like a solid stream. A bender couldn’t do it better.

He bows his head. “Do you require any sugar, or cream?”

I just shake my head. I see his eyes leave me for a moment, dart to the side of the bed which Asami had slept in. They don’t linger long, not long enough for me to catch them in the act. But long enough for him to wonder, then decide that no, the bed looks made. Made enough, at least.

As he walks away, I think that maybe her making the bed was… not just some flight of overbearing neatness. She’s hiding it. Hiding me. I don’t think I should be surprised by that, but it still hits me somewhere I wasn’t expecting.

I sit up in the bed, and sip the coffee. It’s coffee. I wonder what notes I’m supposed to be tasting, what notes Asami is tasting, right now, probably drinking the same coffee. It makes sense that she would do this, of course. Even if it is a little… too much. I could’ve just rolled around a lot, in my sleep. I could’ve used both pillows. It’s a massive bed, but still. People do that. Would he have assumed… something, if I had done just that? It’s not like he could tell the difference in indentations my head leaves on a pillow, versus Asami’s.

But still, I do get it. Her father didn’t want me here to begin with, and probably still doesn’t. He’s allowing her this one thing, based on some notion that I’m useful, important, and… I don’t know, exactly. But if he suspects I’m important in… other ways, he might decide to stop humoring Asami. Affection is a dangerous thing, after all. It can make you vulnerable... like last night. He wants his daughter to be safe, not distracted. He wants her to have a bodyguard, not a... whatever I am, or might be.

It’s all too damn much, this early. On any morning, but especially this one. Asami opened herself up to me, yesterday. Then, she kissed me. Then, some spectre appeared from out of her past, and tried to kill us both. Probably would have done, were it not for Mako. Fuck, Mako. I never asked what weird shit you got up to. Maybe I should have. I clinch the coffee cup a little tighter. I’m definitely asking now. Not that I don’t appreciate the intervention. But couldn’t it have come a little sooner? Maybe stop them from coming all together? Maybe warn me ahead of time?

And that ‘she’... maybe he knows who she is. The other man didn’t… or he said he didn’t. I’ll ask him that. Probably without hitting him with a pistol, or hitting him at all. But no promises. If I feel like he’s holding out on me, if he knows something that would hurt Asami, then I don’t really have a choice but to-

But to sound like Asami, last night. I sigh. There’s always a choice. And I’m not going to choose to attack Mako. Not because he may have saved my life, but because that’s just wrong. There are some things you just don’t do. And that? That’s right at the top of the list.

A knock in the doorway. Asami, dressed already, and dressed for a very specific kind of work. She looks herself again. Her eyes are hers, and she’s wearing her reds, her blacks. Somewhat loose black pants, and a maroon tank top. Her fists are taped, like she’s-

Like she’s ready for sparring. Which is what we’re going to do, this morning. What we’re going to do every morning, from here until… whenever I’m gone.

“How did you sleep?” she asks, just a little too blunt, and a little too loud. Like she’s delivering a line on stage, trying to reach her voice to the back of the house.

I smile. “Well, thanks to-”

Her eyes narrow.

I cough. “Thanks to you, for getting me… such a nice bed, I slept very, very well. So… uh… thanks?”

She shuts the door, and walks to my bed, sitting next to me.

“You’re welcome,” she whispers.

I yawn, and for all the coffee I have, it doesn’t seem enough. I want to grab her, pull her under the sheets with me, and just drift back off to sleep. Well, maybe not sleep right away. Maybe-

But I’m an employee again. Maybe that’s why she left? Maybe it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with her father? Maybe that was it? Yesterday was nothing but yesterday, an island of a day, connecting to nothing else. But I… don’t think so. Past is prologue, after all. Things happen, and they inform the things that happen next. You can’t just make a day disappear.

I rub my neck, and it’s stiff. “So… what’s a work day in my life look like?”

“First - once you get out of bed - we’re going to fight. And I’m going to win, because that’s what happens. Of course, I do expect you’ll provide something of a challenge.”

I glare. “Something of a challenge? I’ll be more than that.”

She shrugs. “We’ll see. I hope so. Hand to hand combat isn’t irrelevant, these days, as so many think. But beyond that, it’s sensory training. Heightened awareness and reflexes are useful in gunfights - and with bending, I imagine - as well. We can’t train those things as specifically, so we’ll do this. The carryover, I expect, will be extensive.”

“But we will shoot,” I say. Hopefully. I’m a little surprised at the enthusiasm in my voice. I just shot a man to death, yesterday, and now I want to shoot again? It’s a paper target… but… even still.

She nods. “We will. And you can practice your bending there as well. It must have numerous combat applications you haven’t explored yet.”

“Probably. We trained all sorts of things, back home, but this is... different. For this job, there's still a lot of blank space on the map. So far, I've mostly just… made shit up, as I go.”

“Like the surfing?”

I… didn’t think she’d seen that. At the shootout. I blush. “That was really stupid, wasn’t it?”

“Very. If I hadn't been laying down such extensive suppressing fire, you’d have been torn to pieces. It’s like you were trying something from the movers. And in case you haven’t realized, this is not the movers. Not even a little.”

“I… have realized that. That night taught me as much. People don’t die like that, on the screen.”

“Nobody would watch, if they did.”

“I guess not. Just seems like maybe… maybe people shouldn’t want to watch that at all. Even cleaned up versions. Maybe, especially cleaned up versions. You know?”

“I do. But I also understand that violence - and the simulated depictions thereof - can be very, very profitable.”

Sitting in this room, in this house, on this estate, I know she’s right. I catch myself rubbing my right wrist. It’s better now, but I still haven’t fixed it, and it still hurts.

Asami stares up at the ceiling, and groans. “Shit. Would you believe I forgot all about that?”

“Given that it’s you… no. But given everything that just happened… yes.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Well, yes. But…” But I need to go ask Mako some questions, preferably soon. Preferably now. “But, it kind of wipes me out, you know?”

“No, I don’t. Not really. You’re the waterbender.”

“Right, well… if I leave it like this, I won’t be a challenge for you, at all. I’m right handed too, so it’ll really be an unfair fight. Boring for you, painful for me. If I do fix it, I’ll be too tired, at least for a few hours, to do much of anything.”

She sighs. “Then fix it. I hate to skip item number one, on day number one. But schedules must be flexible.”

“Well… that’s just the thing. I… have some special water, I brought over on the boat. It’s from an incredibly pure spring, down South. Makes the whole healing process quicker and easier. I just forgot to grab it, when I moved over here. Stupid of me, but oh well. I’ll just run right over to Sharks, and get it now.”

Asami stands. “Ok. I’ll get changed, and we can-”

“No! I mean, no, I don’t want to waste your time. You could… you could start taking that rifle apart. That’s really important, and we both know I wouldn’t be any help at all. I’d just be standing over your shoulder, twiddling my thumbs. This way, we can both have a productive morning. And come on… we both know you’re itching to take that thing apart.”

She smiles, and I can see her eyes taking it apart already. I have to stifle a laugh, she looks so excited.

“That’s… not a horrible idea. And you’re right, the idea of an unknown rifle, being supplied to our enemies… it’s something I need to figure out. Quickly. And there are so many questions. Who gave it to them? Who designed it? And… this is hard for me to say, but… are there any design ideas I haven’t thought of, that maybe need stealing?”

I can’t stifle the laugh anymore, because the idea that someone, anyone, could design anything better than her clearly burns her up.

“And who could design something…” Don’t say better, don’t say better. “better than you?” Shit.

“Not better!” The fire flashes on her face, then subsides. “Sorry. Just… just, different. New. And the people who can do that… well, it’s a short list. When I have it narrowed down, we’ll go see them. Whoever it is.”

By the look in her eyes, I don’t think that’s going to be a friendly visit.

“I look forward to that, but… what else happens today? When I get back? You said we’re doing a job for your father, and that it’s going to be a bitch.”

“Well, it’s not so bad, really. We’re going to break into Kuvira’s penthouse suite at the Republic City Regent, and steal something.”

I’m warm now, and I don’t know why. My leg is burning, and-

I’m spilling my coffee. I start bending it back into the cup, pulling it out of the sheets.

Asami puts her hand on my shoulder. “We’ll just throw them out. Don’t bother.”

Oh. Right. “I’m just not quite used to… that. To this.”

“Of course not. Why would you be?”

I set the cup on the nightstand, with the carafe, and rub my face. “So.. we’re breaking into Kuvira’s place? That sounds like a good idea.”

“It’s an idea. Not mine, but that doesn’t make a difference. We’re doing it. As for the why, and the how, don’t worry about that. There will be plenty of time to fill you in, when you return. Speaking of which, you had better return.”

She… she knows? My body is ice, and I can’t find the words. I’m sorry? I’m a cop? How do you even begin? What do you say that-

“I don’t think anyone will attempt an attack on you, in broad daylight, on public streets. That’s stupid. Just begging for a conviction. But given last night… well, you never know. Take one of the rustbuckets, rather than your car. People won’t expect that. As for your hair, and eyes, I can-”

“I’ll be fine, Asami. I won’t go anywhere else, so I don’t need to worry about people recognizing me. And I’m not you. Not even close. I haven’t had one newspaper picture, much less a thousand. The list of people who even know who I am in this city is very, very short.”

She narrows her eyes, and squeezes my shoulder.

“Don’t get killed. And don’t get captured. We won't negotiate. Sorry, but that's how it is.”

“I’ll be careful. And I won’t… do any of that. You can trust me.”

She nods. “I know.”

As she leaves, I think about what she knows, and I think about what she doesn’t. I think about her trust, and what I’m going to do with it. I think... I think that I don't really know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More art! Now you too can experience the joy of Asami pointing a gun at your face! And can I also just say, I'm really thrilled that "Asami fucking Sato" seems to have caught on, a little?  
> Source: http://sumbungi.tumblr.com/post/110366761089/asami-fucking-sato
> 
> I have other notes:
> 
> Blue is a little duplicitous here. And not half bad at it. Coming up, Blue goes to town, and goes to work. That is a bad tease. But things happen. Actiony things. Not just talking. But lots of talking too. Because it's me.
> 
> It occurred to me today that I could rename this story Blue's Clues. I'm sorry, because now that's stuck in your head. Don't even try to get it out. 
> 
> Should I change this story's rating to Mature? I've read other fics that are far less violent, and don't have any cursing, that carry the M rating. Maybe it's a sex thing? For as violent as this has been, it's been pretty chaste, so far. Just a kiss. (And Blue is formally an employee again, so, you know...) But I don't know. The violence isn't going away, I can confidently say that. If anything, it's going to get a little nastier, at a certain point. And while I've already used "fuck" or its variations 72 times(!!!) in this story, that's not going away either.


	28. Chapter 28

Asami said I should take a rustbucket, but driving down the road, I’m not sure this damn thing could even hold water. It’s an old model - something like fifteen years past its best - but looks worse, far worse, than any date would suggest. It looks like someone tried pretty hard to make a dumpy looking car, which is probably about right. Asami Sato, master engineer, lover of beautiful machines, stripped something down, then built it back up to look like a barely functioning piece of shit.

But it is functioning, and much better than the looks would imply. This doesn’t have the V12 that my blue Satomobile does, but it’s got more get up and go than I expected. Enough that I just about drove myself into somebody’s bumper twice, hitting the accelerator, and getting way more power than I had expected.

At least, I assume this isn’t a V12. It’s not like I looked under the hood, and it’s not like I’d recognize anything I saw under there, even if I did. I think, maybe, that if we get a quiet afternoon, I might ask Asami to show me around a V12. Not that I’m too interested in them, but I have a feeling she could make it interesting. Regardless, this engine sounds different. I know what Asami’s prototype sounded like, and I know that my blue - should I call the car Blue, maybe? - satomobile sounded the same. I know that it felt the same, in my bones. This noise is more subtle. It doesn’t shout that this car is the strongest damn monster on the road, ready to tear up a strip of pavement with the tap of a foot. But that’s probably for the best, given that I’m trying to be subtle.

And that is the goal, today. Don’t get noticed. Talk to Mako. Get out. Get back. Easy enough. Well, simple enough. Simple ain’t always easy, though, and I know that for sure. Still, I’ve dressed to match the car: simple denim pants, with a darker blue t-shirt, a white ballcap, and black plimsolls. All of them are a little pre worn, covered in a little dirt and… motor oil, I think? Asami thinks of everything. I’ve got my water flask slung over my shoulder, but that could just as easily be for drinking. All in all, I suppose I don’t look much too ladylike, by most standards. But fuck those standards. I’m not dressing to impress; I’m dressing for work. And, I have to say, comfort. I like how I looked in those dresses, and I liked how Asami looked at me in them; but they’re not fit for days like this.

Today, I’m going to work, so I’m dressed for work. Though I can’t quite say what that work is, exactly. Talk to Mako. I’ve got that. But about what? And how? He may have saved my life. But then, maybe he could’ve prevented that altercation completely. Maybe he could’ve left Asami and I just a few more minutes of private time, to see how we filled the blank space after the kiss. There was a void there, screaming for color. And now I don’t get to know what the picture would’ve looked like. That sounds trivial, given what happened. And given what could’ve happened. And it is, maybe. But I’m entitled to one trivial thing, at least. Being twisted around this city, a pawn two players think they’re controlling… shit. One quiet evening isn’t asking too much, is it? One day without blood?

I sigh. That probably is asking too much. It’s not fair, where I am, or what I’ve got. But then fair never had much to do with anything.

Mako probably feels about the same way. That was probably just work for him, and damn hard work. He probably didn’t know, and what he knew, he probably couldn’t act on. And it’s not like they knew I’d be there. It’s not like ‘she’ knew… although, they had known I was a waterbender. So I guess she did. Somehow.

I’m thinking on everyone in this town who’s seen me with Asami, and seen me bend in. It’s a short list. Asami, for one, but she’s out. Asami’s guards, at the Red Raven… but none of them would be a she. Which leaves all the females at the party, basically. And that’s… not as short a list as I had hoped. There were plenty of survivors there, and plenty that would qualify as a she. And plenty on the Beifong side, who would have reason to want Asami dead. By name, I know Opal, Kuvira, and Su. But Asami wouldn't have told any of them about that place, not in a million years. Of course, she says she never told anyone at all. Maybe this person found out, some other way, and was just trying to twist the knife, before Asami died? Maybe Asami did tell someone, and just forgot? Though I don’t know how she’d forget a thing like that. So... maybe she’s lying? But why?

Unless… taking me there, it’s hard to call it anything other than romantic. Sad, heavy, and all those other things too. But you don’t show just anybody that. And you don’t tell just anybody that. At least, I don’t think she would. It… burns me a up a little, thinking about that. Not even that whoever this is might have betrayed her… but that Asami shared that place with another person. Even if it was just words, traded half a world away, it’s-

It’s not my place. Not to think like that. Not about this, a very real threat to her. That’s what I need to focus on. Bodyguard duties. Protect Asami. Someone knew something, and it really should have killed her. That person is still out there, and still a threat. I have to neutralize that threat. Not because of petty jealousy, but because it’s my fucking job, and I’m going to do it.

Pulling into the parking lot at Sharks, that’s what I’m thinking. Or rather, I’m trying to clear the swirling maelstrom out of my head, so I can think. Clean up the mess on the floor, so I can see where to step. Do your job, Blue. Talk to Mako, gather information, be professional. But there’s a green car in the parking lot, and I’m suddenly feeling something that’s a little more violent than professional.

I sprint to the door, throw it open… and see three green clad bodies, awkwardly sleeping on a couch, a pool table, and the floor. I think, for half a second, that there’s been some kind of firefight here, but the only liquid dripping off of them is drool. And there are pitchers piled around also. I take off my hat, scratch my head, and replace it. They had a good time, looks like. Didn’t even keep the booze downstairs. Rude bastards.

Mako doesn’t look to be having quite so much fun. He’s sweeping, and mumbling something to himself. I saunter over, and tap him on the shoulder. The broom handle comes flying towards my face as he turns, and thankfully, it’s coming from my left side. A quick flick and it smashes into a block of ice, wrapped around my fist. I let the water splash onto the floor, and twist the handle under my arm, right up against my ribs.

Mako smiles, and steps back. “By all means, if you want the broom…” He bows, and motions to the mess on the floor.

I toss it back to him, and notice that he’s a little bandaged up. I’d guess, normally, that those greenies in corner had given him some trouble. If I didn’t know better. But I do.

“No thanks,” I say. “Get Bo to do it. Where is he, anyway?”

Mako shrugs. “Fuck if I know. Running around with Opal, already. Or maybe running around with Opal, still. They’re burning awful bright, awful quick.” He snaps his fingers, and a little spark jumps, illustrating his point.

I remember the party, Bolin tossing stone around. I laugh. “Probably wouldn’t mind having an earthbender around, would you? Would make sweeping a lot easier.”

He groans. “Don’t remind me. Could you… could you, at least, help with the spills?”

“Sure. Later. First, though, let’s head downstairs.” I glance at the snoring mob in the corner. “We need to talk. In private.”

His eyes set, and his hand drifts towards a bandage on his cheek. He just nods, and starts walking, leaving the broom propped up against a pool table.

It’s funny, entering the downstairs living area, how small it looks now. How cheap. How… low, almost. I sit on the couch, and the fabric’s not anything expensive, I can tell. But I also don’t mind, exactly. This whole place is a dive, but it’s funny how quickly something can set up inside you, and plant a little seed. It’s funny how quickly that seed can start to grow into nostalgia.

Mako’s not sitting. He’s leaning up against the wall, staring right over my head. Like he’d rather not look at me, or talk to me. Not about this.

He puts his hands in his pockets, and looks down. He’s chewing his lip. “Well?”

“That’s about what I was going to ask you, honestly. I barely know where to start asking questions. Just tell me every relevant detail you can think of, and I’ll ask about what you don’t say. Sound good?”

“Not really. But I don’t think we have an option that does. But… just so you know, you’re going to be disappointed. There’s a lot I don’t know, and some things I’m not going to tell you.”

I let those last words sit for a moment, and fester between us. “Mako. I was this close - this fucking close - to getting killed. And you know what? That’s not even the worst part. I had to stand there, and listen to that rat fucking bastard go on and on about murdering Asami’s mother, right to her face. Do you have any idea how much that hurt her? And how much that hurt me, seeing her in that much pain?”

“No. But I can guess, by the look of you two-” He covers his mouth.

I stand up, and take a step forward. “And what does that mean?”

“Hey… no… I’m not… I’m sorry. I’m not trying to start anything Korra. Ok? I’m not. But we were there for… a while. That was the plan… to wait until you were… distracted. With each other. We were told to expect that. And to... preferably wait until your hands were away from your weapons…”

I don’t remember throwing any ice at Mako’s head. Which is fine, because there’s isn’t any stuck there. But there is a spike stuck in the wall, just an whisper to the left of his head. There’s fire in his palm, but it’s too late. Or would’ve been, if I hadn’t been aiming wide on purpose. Or… well, I think I was aiming wide on purpose. I probably was. I hope I was.

He glances at the sickle, watches as it starts to melt. I’m staring at it too, and right on past it; like there’s a mirror behind it, and I’m looking into myself.

He exhales. “I suppose I deserved that.”

I take a step forward, then back, and sit down again. “No, you didn’t. And I’m sorry. Let’s just back up. I can be objective about this. I’ll just ask what I want to know. Calmly. Directly. But first of all, you did stop them. I skipped that part, and I shouldn’t have. Thanks.”

He nods. “Yeah.”

“Ok, can I ask how long you’ve been with that group?”

“Couple months, about.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. Doesn’t take long, really. When people are desperate, they’ll latch on to anyone who promises loyalty.”

“Provided they make up some false story, to justify their being there in the first place.”

“Of course. And that was an easy enough thing. I searched the records, found an Agni Kai officer who was known for… getting around. Said he was my dad, that Asami killed him - which she did - and they welcomed me.”

“Firebending didn’t hurt, I imagine.”

“Well, that’s why it was me. Why Chief gave me the job.”

“How many jobs like that does she dish out?”

“Don’t know. Wouldn’t tell you if I did.”

I pause, and now I’m chewing on my lip. Shit is contagious. “Fair enough. I’ll stay on topic. Who was that leader?”

“Called himself Dai. Checks out. He was a longtime Agni Kai, trading mostly in violence. We don’t know if he was actually there, at the Last Dance. But his scars were real, and so was his hatred.”

“Did he… did he say what happened, that night?”

Mako shakes his head. “Not specifically, no. Asami shot everyone, and then slit every throat in building, just to make sure. But beyond that, nothing. I think he liked the idea of us imagining our own private horrors. As bad as it must have been, people can always imagine worse.”

“He also could’ve been making it up.”

“Could’ve been, you’re right.”

“Well… whatever. Why he wanted Asami dead is less important to me than how he almost got the job done. Which brings me to ‘she’. The person who told him about the location. I don’t suppose you know who that is?”

“I don’t.”

“It’d be nice if you did.”

He just shrugs.

“Do you know how the directions were phrased? And when did you first get them?”

“Dai told us two days before we attacked you. He seemed pretty giddy, so it was probably new information, to him. As for the directions themselves, they didn’t include landmarks, exactly. Other than the rock. We were told how many kilometers to travel from the city limits sign exactly, what road to take, and what direction. That’s it. We were told to wander off the road then, towards the ocean, until we found the rock with the initials.”

“Did you… know what the initials stood for?”

He laughs. “Yeah. Just some teenagers, I guess. Six month anniversary, needs to be marked forever.”

“Bullshit. No. No. I mean... that’s not… that’s not what she told me. And you saw how emotional she got. I don’t think she was lying to me. Fuck it. I know she wasn't.”

He rubs his neck. “Yeah… we did see. Sorry about that. Again. So what was it?”

“I don’t… I don’t feel like I should share. She meant it for me. No offense but… I don’t think she wants anyone knowing. Except who she tells.”

“Well, she told someone else.”

I bristle at that, but clamp down on my anger. “She lied to someone else.”

“About the specifics, but not about the location.”

We’re silent, and I’m letting the emotion seep out of me. It doesn’t have a place here. Not now.

 

“The disguises… you were expecting her to look different.” It’s not a question exactly, but he gets it.

“We were told her eyes could be any color, and that they’d look real. That she could modify her voice, her expressions, mannerisms, everything.”

“And this was from ‘she’ also?”

“According to Dai, yes.”

“And she gave you those guns, too?”

“He said so.”

“She must not like Asami very much, either.”

He cracks half a grin. “I’d say not.”

I’m checking off boxes in my head. “So, we know that she is a she. Well, we don’t know. But let’s assume. We know she deals in arms, that she knows I’m a waterbender, that Asami and I probably would… you know, knows Asami can disguise herself, knows the location of Asami’s stone…”

“And that she wanted Asami dead. Who has that mix of power and desire?”

I’m rubbing my wrist, and I’m not thinking the name. I’m sure as shit not saying it. Even wrapped in a lie, Asami wouldn’t have told her of that place. She couldn’t have. I was there, when they first met. And they haven’t had a private conversation since. Still, I see her eyes… how she looked at Asami, pressing that platinum gun against her own forehead.

The eyes are mesmerizing, terrifying, but I pull myself away. She wouldn’t know about Asami’s disguises, or her contacts. And Asami would never have spoken to her, much less about something so private. It’s just fear. Burning, irrational fear. An emotion that has no place here, so I drown it out.

“I have no idea.”

Mako shifts up against the wall.

I stand, but stop before taking a step. “Mako, what was your job, with them?”

“About like yours, I suspect. Get in where Chief thinks I could fit in easily. For me, that was with a group of parentless firebenders, for you…”

I just sigh. “You can say it, Mako.”

“With Asami. Sorry, but… can I ask?”

“You can ask whatever you want. But I’m not answering anything about us.”

“Us?”

I try to glare, but just deflate. All the anger’s gone out of me, and it’s like there’s nothing left over. “I don’t know. I… we… it’s complicated.”

“It’s not, really. You’re doing a damn good job. You’re getting close to her, and pretty damn quick. Pretty soon, I’m sure you’ll have something to use against her.”

“I suppose so.” It comes out as a whisper.

The noise upstairs is no whisper, however. Smashing glass, broken tables, stamping feet. They’re awake.

“They were drunkenly demanding protection money last night. Thought maybe they’d forget about that, when they woke up. Doesn’t sound like it.” Mako narrows his eyes. “You want to help me clean up?”

“One question, first. If I hadn’t been there, would you have gone through with it? Would you have killed her?”

He swallows. “You don’t want me to answer that.”

“I do, actually. I know the answer. But say it. I want to hear it.”

“Yes.”

I swallow that down. I think about Asami, about whoever hurt her. And all the people who want to. I let the anger come, and I put it on ice. Concentrate, calculate. Win. Like Asami. I rub my wrist, and I don’t give a damn about it.

I shake my head. “No. I’m not going to help you.”

“Korra, shit, I-”

“It’s not that, Mako. I’m new at this organized crime thing, but even I know debts are bad business. I owe you nine men. Let me pay off three.”

“Korra, don’t try to play the hero, just-”

“Trust me, Mako. I’m not a damn hero. But, you want to help?”

“Yes!”

“Then hold my hat.”

I toss it to him, and give him credit, he does catch it.

“Korra! Wait. Fuck.”

I start walking up the stairs, and he hurries after me. We pop through the door, and the three men are up, awake, and disorderly. Breaking things, pouring things, stamping about like overgrown toddlers. They pause, when they see us.

One particularly ugly specimen steps forward, and points at Mako. “You get our money? This, this is Kuvira’s town now. And that means this is Kuvira’s bar. So pay up, or fuck off.”

I raise an eyebrow, and walk over to the upstairs bar. Nominally, the only bar in the place. But, well… nominally isn’t always reality. There’s soda here, and water. I grab two large pitchers of the latter, and walk towards the three men.

“I don’t have your money,” says Mako. “Mostly because none of my money belongs to you.”

“Hey, flamer, you show me some respect. I’m-”

“You said this is Kuvira’s town, yes?” I set the two pitchers of water on a pool table, eye the two men who haven’t spoken, and nudge both pitchers a little right, and little left.

He rubs his head. I thought I felt hung over this earlier this morning, but no. These guys… they’re all so wrung out, I almost feel bad for what I’m about to do. Almost, but not quite.

“Hey, what the fuck are you-”

A jet of water, with a hard cap of ice on the end, leaps from each pitcher. Two streams, smashing into two foreheads. Two already splitting headaches subside, if only because it’s pretty damn hard to have a headache when you’re unconscious. And that’s exactly what they are.

The speaker, still awake, begins reaching for a gun, holstered right at his side. But when he glances down at the gun, his nose finds itself on the wrong side of a collision with my forehead. He’s down now, bleeding. I take the gun myself, and press it up against his forehead.

“If this is Kuvira’s town, what happened to Su? Isn’t she still alive?”

“Fuck!” I think I broke it. “Su… Su’s alive. Back in Zaofu to recover. Kuvira thought it would help.”

“I bet she did.”

He just groans. I just sigh. Mako disarms the two unconscious greenies and checks to make sure they’re alive. They are. Have to say I’m glad.

The man narrows his eyes. “Wait… aren’t you that girl from the party? You were puking all over yourself! Yeah, yeah, you-”

“You need to stop right there. I’m not that girl.” I point two fingers at my eyes. “Look. Look right there. Right in my eyes. That’s who the fuck I am. Now, you think this is Kuvira’s town? Let me give a little message to Kuvira. Pass it on for me, ok?”

I squeeze the trigger, and there’s nothing but a click, and a whimper. I pick the discarded clip up off the ground, and wave it in front of his eyes.

“Bang,” I whisper, soaking that word in venom.

I back off a few steps, replace the clip, and let the pistol follow the man back to his feet. He manages. Slowly, and awkwardly. But he manages.

“Mako, you want to call the police?”

He laughs, and I hear the click of a phone hanging up, over by the upstairs bar.

“One step ahead. But stick around, would you?”

I grit my teeth. “Probably should.”

He walks over, puts a hand on my shoulder. "I know one person who really agrees with that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Wikipedia, a "novel" is a single work of fiction, longer than 40,000 words. So you're reading a somewhat made-up-as-I-go detective/noir serial that's longer than that. And I'm glad that you are. But it all seems very strange. 
> 
> Anyway. In this Chapter, Blue goes to work, and I refuse to make plot things clear. Next chapter: Chief.


	29. Chapter 29

Hearing the sirens outside, I wonder if I’m going to get arrested. Don’t suppose I will, but it’s certainly possible. I could get taken down to the station, in any case, to discuss what happened here. To talk to Chief, maybe. That would be a funny thing. A cop - well, a sort of cop - visiting Republic City’s police station, for the first time, as a witness. I laugh. Well, not a witness. Not sure I could sell them on that. I was a pretty active participant, actually. I did a lot more than look.

The ice, the headbutt, the gun. It felt good, I have to say. Well, I don’t have to say that, exactly. And if any of the police ask, I won’t say that. I’ll say they started shit - which is kind of, basically, true - and hope Mako goes along with it. They demanded protection money, which is true. They started smashing things, which is true. And then they attacked me. Which is not.

But it’s also irrelevant. I remember my first day in this city. Just days ago, but it may as well have been years. I stood on the docks, faced down by three rough looking men. I stood, ready and waiting for them to attack. Ready, but waiting. And that was a damn stupid thing, I now realize. It didn’t matter, because they weren’t going to attack me anyway. And even if they were going to, Mako and Bolin showed up. But if they had attacked? Well, you don’t win by countering. You win by hitting first, and making that first hit hard enough that it’s also the last one.

I have seen a couple exceptions though, lately. Dai, and his would-be Agni Kai got the jump on Asami and I, interrupting… us. We got lucky, and we survived. But there are a lot of broken people who can tell you, rely on the dice, and you come away wanting. Maybe not this time. Maybe not next time. But eventually.

I remember the party, at the mansion. The attackers there… they had hit first too, and it had damn near been enough. Should’ve been, probably. But Kuvira was there, and so it didn’t matter. When you can bend bullets, I guess you can play by different rules. And Kuvira… that’s still a damn scary sight, even just in my mind’s eye. Dancing with the bullets, flinging them around her, slaughtering with them.

And did I really just threaten to shoot her in the head? To do what Asami couldn’t? What she refused to do? And now my mind’s heading back there, to a dark corner I’m trying awfully hard to avoid. To the way they fought. Together. Like dance partners. Sharing something I couldn’t. And the way Kuvira then exploited… whatever that was...

That was a stupid threat, probably. And maybe an empty one, speaking strictly on my ability to carry it out. But it was full up of meaning. Overflowing.

The sirens are silent, and the door opens. Cops stream in, guns up, ready for a fight that ended minutes ago. I give a mock salute, and then feel like a bit of an ass. They just set about their business, cuffing the greenies, and hauling them off.

No one heads my way. I’m a little surprised. Maybe even a little insulted. I was all set to tell my story; why don’t they want to hear it?

As the cars drive off, I hear the sound of an engine coming the other direction, the slam of a door, and then the rhythmic thud of boots approaching.

Chief.

I flinch, stopping myself from doing that damn mock salute again, but it’s a near thing.

“I was thinking I might have to visit you at this station. You, coming to me? This is really too much.”

If she’s amused, it doesn’t show. I don’t think she’s amused, though. Not now, and maybe not ever. I try to imagine what that might look like, and her face just crumbles into dust, in my imagination.

She doesn’t stop walking. Just stomps right on past me, grabs my arm, and I guess we’re going downstairs. Don’t have much of a choice, because she’s on me like a vice.

She pulls me over to the couch - right where I was just seated, while talking to Mako - and gives me a firm push, suggesting I sit. I comply.

“Chief, I-”

“Stop. Right there.” She holds up one finger. “First thing-” She extends her hand.

I stare at it, like it might be a bomb. I reach, slowly, slowly, like it’s now a wild animal, that might run away if I move too quickly. I take it, wrap my hand around hers. She grips, and it’s firm again. Strong, assuring, but without violence. She gives one firm shake.

“Thank you,” she says. And pulls her hand away.

Mine hovers in the air. Thanks? For… for Su.

“Can’t shake my hand in public?”

“Excuse me?”

I pull my hand back. “I mean, you just-”

“Korra, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Drop it. Please. We have matters of professional interest to attend to.”

“Ok…”

“Let’s start with Suyin, the matriarch of the Beifong syndicate.”

Let’s… start there? Didn’t we already? I mean… I just shake my head. Nevermind.

“Ok, what do you want to know? Or I guess, what do you want me to know?”

“You saved her life, correct? Using your bending?”

“I did.”

“You’re sure?”

“Well… you’re never sure, exactly. It’s not a science. And truthfully, it’s not even something I do. It’s… hard to explain. It’s like… the bullet wound put a dam up, and her energy couldn’t flow. I just moved the dam, let it flow, and that flow actually healed her.”

“Lovely. Doesn’t answer my question, but very poetic. Try again.”

“I’m as sure as it’s possible to be. I saw her come up to the surface, with me.”

“The surface?”

“Don’t get me started on that. I couldn’t explain it if I had to.”

“Well, you do have to. So try.”

“Ok, well, we have to back up first. I… the whole thing went how you forecasted, basically. There was an attack, and-”

“I know all about that.”

“Sorry, but you don’t. You don’t know how I felt about it, which informs the whole… surface thing. During the attack, I killed people. Shot them up, and shot them apart. I saw the metal tear them open, and saw everything come tumbling out. All of it was red. So red, until all I could see was red. Until I was drowning in it. I saw Su down there with me, and when I healed her, it was like… for just that moment, everything was clean. Clear. And we came to the surface together.”

“Is that… what it’s normally like?”

I shake my head, and stare at the floor. “No. But I’d never pulled someone back from that near death, before. And I’d never been so totally submerged in death, either. It’s almost silly, naive, looking back. Thinking it could’ve ever been otherwise. Now my whole world is red, and if it weren’t for-”

“We’ll get to her.”

I can feel myself beginning a blush, and try to suppress it. I don’t know that you can suppress a blush, though, so it’s just sitting there, a signpost for my feelings. Like Chief needs one.

“Well, I’m asking, Korra, because I’ve gone to visit-” she clears her throat. “Excuse me. I’ve interviewed Suyin twice, since then. She’s alive, and you deserve credit for that.”

“Then why is she going back to Zaofu, to recover?”

“You heard about that?”

I point to the door. “From the ugly one. Well, the ugliest one. Yeah.”

“Well, it’s true. Kuvira has… suggested, that it would be best for her. She’s not in the best of shape, frankly. And so I was curious, if you-”

“If I got it right?”

“In so many words, yes. They’ve hired all the healers they can find, and she’s only gotten worse. The word around the Beifong house - which is taken, supposedly, from these healers - is that you might have used some kind of… I don’t know… secret Water Tribe black bending, or… something.”

I meet her eyes. “That’s clearly bullshit.”

“I agree.”

“Then why bring it up?”

“Because, it’s helpful to know what’s happening with your enemy, as a Sato employee. And helpful to know that some people are blaming you for these events.”

She bites off the last words, and realization dawns in me. “Which means I could be a target.”

“Nice job, detective.”

I groan, and stare at the ceiling. “And people actually believe that? Their so-called Water Tribe healing experts didn’t even bother to get the name right. Their families must’ve immigrated a couple generations back, at least. The name is bloodbending, not black bending. But either way, it’s not real. Just an old Water Tribe myth, some ancient legend about a couple characters called the Avatar and Breaker. It’s all just stuff to scare kids into behaving, basically.”

She raises an eyebrow.

I groan again, louder. “You don’t know it? I thought everybody did…”

She shrugs. “You all are a little more… traditional, let’s say, down South. People don’t tell stories to scare children, where I’m from. Or in Republic City. They just let them read the newspaper, and that does the job. Humor me.”

“A little more backwater, you mean? And could we do this another time, maybe?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you next. After shacking up with Asami...”

She catches me glaring, and smiles. Maybe just a hint of one.

“Fine,” I say. “I haven’t heard the story in years, but… whatever. In some long lost time - which conveniently explains the lack of records - there was a spirit. This spirit made a home in people, and while it did, they could control all the elements, and to a degree today’s benders can’t even dream of. They could pull lightning down from the sky, split oceans, lift mountains. Stuff like that. They were, supposedly, a force for good. Something essential to the proper order of the universe. Though I don’t see how, considering every powerful person I know… well… is mostly just out for themselves. But anyway, they were all about peace and balance and some shit like that. Some nameless, immortal spirit, passing from person to person, from before time. The Avatar. You know the title?”

She nods. “Rings a bell, but never really looked into it. There were some suicide cults, a couple hundred years back. Waiting for the return.”

“Well that’s… gruesome. So, uh, Breaker. You know how we call people who can bend the elements, well… benders? Breaker was a bender who… broke elements. Broke people. Hence the name. He - though of course, no real records, so fuck if we know the gender - was allegedly a bloodbender - which, again, there’s no such thing - and grew jealous of the Avatar’s powers. Thought that they should be used to dominate the world, rather than balance it. The strong should have it all, basically. So, instead of trying to break the Avatar’s powers, Breaker tried to steal them. Only it didn’t work. Their wills were equal, indomitable, and the Avatar Spirit hung between the two humans until they both died from exhaustion. And then… poof. The spirit was gone. Well, not gone, exactly. Not dead. Just floating around, watching us humans prattle on, without a vessel. I guess those cultists think it’ll find one, someday? Sounds like a smart group of people. Anyway, without ‘balance’, our world devolved into… well, the shit show that it is. At least, that’s how the story is used. The old folks will tell the kids that the Avatar Spirit is keeping watch on them, so they better be good. And when something awful happens, well that’s just how our world is. Human greed threw it out of balance forever, and we’re eternally fucked. It’s… pretty dark, actually. Even for a morality tale.”

She’s making a face like I just fed her a lemon. Holding it for so long, I think she might get stuck that way. Finally, she just sighs, and shakes her head.

“Can we get back to the real world?”

“Please. You’re the one who asked for that detour.”

“I regret it. Sincerely.”

“So the reason Su is going back to Zaofu is Kuvira. We know that already. And it makes sense. Su wanted… a tenuous peace, at least. And Kuvira doesn’t want that. She wants war. Blood. And not just for profit, either. You should see the way she looked at Asami, her eyes-”

“Calm down, Korra.”

I loosen my jaw, shoulders, and everything else. I… hadn’t noticed.

“You’re right, though. Or at least, that seems a likely motivation. Kuvira wants Su out of the way, but doesn’t want her dead. Either for sentimental reasons, or she worries that a death might fracture the family.”

“So, assuming I’m not secretly the only bloodbender in a million years… what did Kuvira poison her with?”

Chief smiles, and it’s a real, genuine smile. Did I just impress her? “I don’t know. Which is the third possible reason Kuvira sent her away. Given a little more time, I might have been able to answer that question. But of course, I have duties here, and can’t travel to Zaofu.”

I rub the back of my head, and breath. “Did Mako ever ask you for those case files?”

“He did.”

“And?”

“And these things take time. Even for me. Especially for me. People notice when anyone looks into Sato business, and people notice whenever I look into anything at all.”

“So you can’t tell me anything?”

“About the murder, I can tell you plenty. I was a first responder. I saw Yasuko’s corpse, full of bullet holes, head crushed-”

“Head crushed? Dai - I assume Mako’s told you who that is - just mentioned her being shot. He didn’t say anything about… that.”

“Because the murderers didn’t do it. Well, not directly. The room largely collapsed, due to the fire. The sad thing is, according to the autopsy and resident pathologist, it’s at least plausible she’d have survived the shooting itself. But the head trauma… well, no one survives that.”

“Did Asami…”

“Did she see? Yes. And more. She was young, as you know. Small enough to dart past her father, crawl in between the burning boards, and try to pull her out. But it was too late for that. She’s incredibly lucky to have survived the experience herself, actually. Well, lucky isn’t really the right word. But you can see why she wanted revenge.”

I feel tears in my eyes, burning. For her. I squeeze, trying to hold them back. I feel sick, and I’m trying to hold that back too.

“How… how do you know this?”

“Because I took her statement. But before that, well... showing up at a scene, you’re worried about the living bodies too. I was there, putting a blanket on her shoulders, telling her it would be ok.” She shakes her head. “You never know what to say, in those situations. Because it’s not ok. You know better. And she knows better. She was only a child, but she knew.”

“Thank you.” I’m letting the tears flow now. Gently, they come.

Chief clears her throat. “I don’t have much info about the Last Dance Massacre. Just what Mako must’ve told you already.”

“I’m glad it happened.”

“What?”

“The massacre. They got what-”

“Korra, stop it. Remember why you’re here. Remember what Asami is to you.”

“She’s…”

“That shouldn’t be a hard sentence to finish.”

I don’t finish it, though. I can’t. Because I can’t find the words, and because I couldn’t show them to Chief, even if I could.

She stands strong in the silence, until I nearly suffocate in it.

“Two more things. I’m saving them for last, because they aren’t topics that needs discussing. Just yes or no questions, and that’s it. Clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Did Hiroshi shoot Suyin?”

“No.” I don’t pause. It comes out without a thought.

“Do you know who did?”

“No.”

“Ok. If you learn anything, please inform me. And Korra, as always, stay alive.”

She nods, clasps her hands behind her back, and leaves.

I rub my wrist, and lay down. This, I can fix. This, I can heal. I think about Asami, six years old… and the tears come again. If only all injuries could be mended so easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a number of comments asking about whether Korra can bloodbend, why she isn't the Avatar, and why there doesn't seem to be one at all. I've never really answered those questions clearly, because comments aren't canon. If I want to flesh out the story, I should do it in the story, where everyone can see it. So, I've done that, using this little legend that I've had in my head for a while, regarding how this AU world "lost" its Avatar. Or maybe it is just some old pagan myth? Maybe it was true once, but the story has been distorted by time? Who knows? Anyway, I thought it made for interesting world building, and it provides answers people seem to want. (It will also certainly invite more questions, but then that's kind of fun.)
> 
> And then the chapter gets really sad. More so than I meant for it to, honestly. I didn't love writing that part... but sometimes those are the parts you really do need to write. So I did. And it matters, too. It's not just being sad and gross to be sad and gross.
> 
> Also, though I've done a solid job of maintaining my chapter a day schedule (that, I swear, isn't really a schedule) I won't be posting anything for Thursday.


	30. Chapter 30

Asami is in the garage. That’s what the man at the gate told me, but now I’m in the garage, and Asami isn’t here. Of course, it’s a giant place. She could be in the back. Could be under a car. I don’t… know exactly what you do, under a car. But I figure that’s the sort of thing she gets up to.

I’m walking, glancing under each car as I go by, and it looks pretty damn awkward, I’m sure.

Even if I wasn’t sure already, it gets really awkward, really fast, when I hear a cough behind me. I turn, water spinning in my hand, ready to fire. But damn, my back is tight now. And anyway, the woman standing in front of me isn’t a threat. She’s old, and has the sort of face that should belong to a grandmother, even if she never had kids. Kind eyes, dimpled cheeks, the works. She’s wearing a grey suit, with white gloves. A driver, then.

I vanish the water back to my flask, and nod. It’s a greeting, and an apology for nearly sending a ball of ice between her eyes. I take a deep breath. Cool it, Blue. Nearly impaling Mako’s face was one thing; at least he kind of deserved it. Maybe. Just a little. Watching me like that. No, watching us like that. I know he didn’t have a choice, exactly. He had to keep his cover. But shit, couldn’t he have closed his eyes or something?

“You must be Blue,” she says.

When Asami calls me that, it’s… well, it’s nice. But when anyone else has, it’s always been a barb. Teasing. An insult. Implying that our growing closeness is some kind of joke. That it’s somehow false…

Which it is, maybe. I don’t think so, and it doesn’t feel that way. But I am being false with her, and there's no denying that.

I just smile at the woman, though. She’s saying it like she heard Asami say it. Like maybe Asami’s told her about me…

“And you are?”

“Sama.”

“Can I… ask you something, Sama?”

“Certainly.”

“How do you you know my name?”

She shrugs. Teasing “Asami told me all about you.”

“Why did Asami tell you, do you think? Does she tell you all sorts of things, about all her employees?”

She laughs, and her eyes are nearly folded up between her eyebrows and her cheeks. “She tells me lots of things about lots of things. I’ve been with the Sato family for twenty five years. Asami was a year old, at that time. You could say we… grew up together, in a sense. Her in the more traditional sense, and I in my new life. After… well, you know. After that, I felt a little closer to her. And her to me, I think. We both had a void to fill. My husband and children died in the war, you see. A firebombing raid. So we spoke, often. Hiroshi was a good man. And is, I suppose. But he was so busy. I… well, I wasn’t, always. Less so, as Hiroshi’s business interests… diversified. I’m a driver, but not that kind. If you follow my meaning. So I read to her. I taught her how to tune an engine, change oil. And of course, how to drive.”

I lick my lips, and look at the floor. “What was she like?”

“Asami? She-”

“Yasuko. Her mother.”

Sama smiles, but it’s a different kind. There’s sadness in it. “She was lovely. I don’t mean that strictly in superficial terms, though I do mean that as well. After all, you’ve seen Hiroshi, and you’ve seen Asami. She didn’t get her looks from him.”

We share a stifled laugh, at that.

“I’m sorry. But, well, humor helps, when it comes to things like this. Anyway, she was lovely. And brilliant too. Not opposite of Hiroshi… not really. More like the other side of the same coin. He knows all things cold, analytical, objective. She knew everything warm, lyrical, and subjective. He could make the most efficient engine the world had yet seen. And he did. But it was her influence that put that engine in a car people actually wanted to be drive.”

“An artist, then?”

“Yes… but… not so flighty as that. Not to say all artists are flighty… but the reputation comes from somewhere. No. She was a worker, at her core. She and Hiroshi were very much alike, in that regard. The difference was the directions their work took them. Hiroshi wanted to change the world with his machines, to make lives easier, more efficient. She wanted to give people more inspired lives. She was a patron of the arts, supporting musicians, painters, and especially dancers. She was one herself, you know. Or, well, of course you wouldn’t. That part of her reputation has been lost. But she was brilliant. She would perform herself, occasionally, and people would complain that she had paid for the privilege. Until they saw her move. And then it was they who happily paid.”

The Last Dance Massacre… it seems suddenly more poetic. But not the pretty kind of poetry. Not the kind you use to romance someone. The kind that ends in tragedy, with everyone dead. A wasteland, put to words.

I drink in the silence, and it’s heavy, bitter. I clench my jaw, and choke it down.

“If you’re looking for Asami, she’s in the other garage. The one out back.”

“Oh. I didn’t know there was another.”

She nods. “This one is for show, and for parking. The other is for work. And she’s working, this morning. On some sort of gun.”

“Can I drive there?”

“Sure. Just take the road around. If you had walk everywhere in this place, you’d get…”

“Lost. I know. Trust me.”

I set off towards Blue, and decide that calling my car that doesn’t really work. I might get jealous of it, anyway. A question’s buzzing in the back of my mind, though.

“Sama?”

“Yes?”

“Did Yasuko like guns too?”

She laughs. “Hated them. Would’ve hated… well...” She looks around, and shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

\-----

I pull up to the garage. The other garage. It’s got a hangar door, swung wide open. Asami had mentioned that the V12 was once a airplane engine, so I guess those need to fit too. And then there’s the airships… but I don’t think the door is that big, and anyway, wouldn’t those have to drop in from the roof? Of course, I can’t tell whether the roof opens up or not. Doesn’t much matter, I suppose.

Asami is at a table, which is littered with the innards of the gun we recovered from the Agni Kai. The gun ‘she’ armed them with. It wasn’t a model I recognized, and while I’m no Asami Sato - but then, who is? - I can recognize more than my fair share of rifles. This one, though? Brand new, by the looks of it. I’m just glad we didn’t get to feel how it fired.

I approach, and Asami looks up, quizzically. “You’re wearing that?”

Shit. I am. Still. I’d thought maybe I should go change, that maybe I should try and look a little nicer for her. Well, not for her, exactly. But for work. A different kind of work than what I was doing this morning. And now I’m walking in, covered in dirt and oil from who knows how long ago. Not that Asami’s dressed fancy. She’s got her work pants on, her maroon jodhpurs. Her jacket is off, though, and she’s just got a white tank top on underneath. It’s messy, and I don’t mind. But just because I don’t mind a certain thing doesn’t mean that she-

She’s in front of me, plucking the hat off my head. She looks at it, examines the stains. “I think this oil is from my first V12 prototype.”

I run my hand through my probably-too-flat hair. “I can go change, if it’s a problem. I just thought it-”

She smiles, and that’s enough to silence me. “Change? You’d better not.” Her mouth twists, and now it’s not a smile, exactly, but a grin, full of mischief. “I love a woman in motor oil.”

She puts the hat back on me, and pulls it down a little too tight. Or maybe, not tight enough. If she pulled it down further, maybe it’d cover my cheeks. Which might not be so bad, because I’m blushing. Again. I hate that she makes me do that… but I love every time it happens. And that’s a damn frustrating thing to try and figure out.

She takes my right hand, and her face becomes one of concern, and curiosity. She runs her fingers along my wrist, examining it, but not like you would a piece of machinery.

“It’s fine,” I say. And it is. A quick thing to heal, really. Easy enough, and not very fatiguing at all. After Su… it actually felt really easy.

She taps it, and don’t flinch. She bends my hand back suddenly, at an angle it’s not supposed to bend, and turns my palm towards her. It’s the same damn thing I did to Bolin, back on the docks.

Bolin’s not a waterbender, though. And I am. One quick movement from my free hand, and a jet of water breaks her grip.

“I had to test it,” she says. “You understand.”

“I do.” And somehow, I really do. We missed our sparring session, this morning. Just making up for it. I wonder, though... “Will I get water for our sparring sessions?”

“I mean… I suppose you can have it.” She flicks the brim of my cap. “If you think you need it.”

“Need? No. You’re quick, Asami. You move well. Fluid. Efficient. But hand to hand? That’s not about who can move the prettiest. And it’s not even about technique, all the time.” I catch myself flexing. Maybe. Just a little. “Up close, it’s about strength. And I think I’m stronger than you. Strong enough to dominate-”

“Promise, Blue?”

Her hands are on my shoulders now, gliding down my arms. If there was a question before, it’s answered now. In the affirmative. I’m flexing for sure, and I don’t care if she notices. Shit, I hope she does.

She steps back, turns with a flourish, and her hair almost whips me across the face. I’m frozen. That wasn’t what I meant. I was talking about grappling. Thinking about holds, submissions… and now I’m not. Not even close.

She sits at the table, all business. She just turns it on and off. I’m still just turned on, though.

“Did you get your water?”

I tap my flask, and a few glass vials I’ve got holstered on a belt, made just for that. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. I did have water, from down South. And plenty of people do say it works better than anything you’d find, up here. People who believe in those sorts of things. Or anything at all.

“I did. You figure out the gun?”

She glares at the parts on the table, like each one is insulting her. Probably are, in a sense. “Yes. I’ve fired it. Accurate to three hundred meters at full auto, double that at semi. And that, at six hundred rounds a minute. Not nearly as fast as my submachine guns, but fast enough for jazz. And with six times the range. Again, double that for semi. And what would you say if I told you it has a gas operated reloading action?”

“I’d say you’re using technical terms to impress a pretty girl in motor oil.”

“No. But if it’s working…” She looks up for a half a moment, and flashes a grin. “Let me make it simple, then. This functionally combines the practical range of a rifle with the firepower of a submachine gun. It strikes a nearly perfect balance between the two. And it does it in a way that looks, frankly, pretty damn simple, and cheap to manufacture. Pretty easy to mass produce. Designs like this could revolutionize small arms combat.”

I see her eyes darting back and forth between the pieces. “And you’re already thinking of ways to improve it.”

“Of course. But… not now. It’s got me a little frustrated, at the moment. So, given the sudden void in our plans, how would you like to go see a mover, this afternoon? We won’t be breaking into Kuvira’s place until much later.”

“I… what?”

She shrugs. “ _Day of the Colossus_ opened last week. I’ll hate it, of course. Giant robots are phenomenally impractical, for reasons too numerous to list. I might do it anyway though, after it’s finished. Regardless, it seems pretty popular. Supposedly the effects are nice, so that’s something. And anyway, maybe I could turn off the engineering part of my mind, if only for a couple hours. It’s a movie about an alien invasion, after all. So maybe I should ignore the square cube law, and the fact that it totally invalidates the film's premise.”

“Asami, just say it. You know you want to.”

She doesn't waste a second. “When an object undergoes a proportional increase in size, its new volume is proportional to the cube of the multiplier and its new surface area is proportional to the square of the multiplier.”

I just stare.

“Strength is largely a function of area, whereas weight is volume dependent. The larger you make the machine, while keeping the basic shape - humanoid, in this case - the more you’re decreasing its relative power. Exponentially so. You end up with something that requires an impossible amount of fuel to do anything, and even then, it couldn’t move quickly without impossibly strong dynamic structures to translate that power into action. And that’s to say nothing of the weight, or the fact that it would be an easy target.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Doesn’t sound like you really want to see this.”

She sighs. “It’ll be fine. And I’ll be fine. It’s aliens. They can just invent some magic fuel source, for plot purposes.”

“So you have less of a problem with aliens, than… just… nevermind. Why do you really want to go?”

“It’s something to do. We have an afternoon to kill. And anyway, you’re new to town. You should see something at the original Blackstone Pictures cinema. It’s really impressive. And built right into the company headquarters. They even give tours, you know.”

“And are we going to take one?”

She picks up a round of ammunition, and bounces it back and forth, across her fingers. “A private one… you might say. We’re going to go see the visionary himself. About a...” She brings the bullet to her eye, and her look could nearly melt it. “A thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 30! I know I mention how long this is, and how much longer it's going to get, rather often. It's not whining, on my part. I just want you all to know what you're in for, and thank you, honestly, for sticking around. I'll probably say this a hundred more times, but still. 
> 
> Anyway! We get some Yasuko backstory here. (I'm stealing the 'dancer' thing, with permission, from Progman.) Also, Asami and Blue go on another date... maybe? And to go see, well, you know who. 
> 
> And the usual writing update: I'm going to be traveling for a race on Saturday, because I'd rather spend Valentine's Day running away from people. That means I probably won't post that day either. Which is ok, because I figure AO3 will get a ton of VDay related one-shots, and people will (and should) want to take the day to enjoy some fluff. I'll probably just work on my outline more, because I'm (still...) adding and tweaking things, as I go.


	31. Chapter 31

My closet is the size of my old living room, back South. Of course, since my living room was also my kitchen, and my bedroom, this closet is as big as all those other things too, put together. You could park several cars in this closet, though it doesn’t seem to me that the Satos are lacking garages.

Doesn’t seem to me they’re lacking anything at all, frankly. Except readily available incriminating evidence, for me to snatch. Or a tip, to drop on Chief, since getting evidence admitted can be a bit of a bitch. Especially if you stole it. Some judges - those worried about morals and the like - have a tendency to throw that out. If they’re bought off, then it’s the easiest excuse you could ever want, to let a criminal walk free.

Of course, that assumes I’d actually grab anything, if given the chance. Say Asami walked right up to me, and handed me a fully notarized sales receipt of all the Sato family booze transactions for the last year. “Here you go, Blue. Keep this safe for me, would you?” Well, would I? Or would I hand it to Chief? It’s all too damn hard to figure, especially since half my mind is already taxed by trying to figure out what to wear for this… thing.

It’s a trip to the movers. So it’s a date? But it’s also a visit to… Varrick, I think his name is. The head man and namesake at Blackstone Pictures. Judging my Asami’s gaze, the way she said ‘thing’... I don’t think we’re paying a friendly visit. Something about the guns? I thought he was just a mover maker. I’d say he’s made enough money doing that already, but I'm rapidly learning that there’s really no such thing as enough money. Hiroshi could buy an island, and move away from Republic City forever. Asami could too. And yet they’re both tethered here, either by money or… some other sense of obligation. Whatever the case with Varrick, he’s my work, today.

So, which is it? Work, or a date? Or work, and a date? I suppose it can be both. And I suppose I need to stop worrying about it. But shit, if she didn’t want me to worry about it, she shouldn’t have kissed me. Not on the lips, and then not that little graze on my shoulder, in bed last night. She slept with me. I still can’t believe it, but I can still faintly taste her, feel her, and yet it’s not a satisfying sensation, not at all. It’s tantalizing, it’s-

Distracting.

I grab some clothes, which is an easy enough thing, once I get my mind aimed in that direction. Asami - or someone else, at her direction - has already sorted everything. I have outfits already, matched and sorted. All I have to do is grab something, and it should work. Should fit too, or at least near enough. Looking at everything, Asami seems to have a pretty accurate idea of what my measurements are…

I just sigh, and throw something on the bed. I don’t even look at it, until it’s laid out in front of me. It’s navy slacks and a matching vest, with a blue button up shirt, which is the lighter shade of my old Water Tribe tops. There’s a gunmetal grey tie as well, the color of a stormy sky above the dark blue sea the rest of my outfit could mimic. I toss it to the other side of my bed. Don’t have a clue how to tie the damn things anyway. And even if I did, it looks a little silly, sitting there on the bed. And I think it might look even more silly, draped around me. I’d look like a fancied up bartender, only without a neatly trimmed beard. And I don’t expect to start wearing one of those either.

Still, I don’t want to waste any more time, picking things out. I’m going to be anxious about whatever it is, so I’m choosing apathy instead. Just throw something on, and we’ll see how things turn out. Or I won’t, because I’ll probably avoid mirrors like they’re plague-infested.

Closing the next-to-last button (and the last I’m using) of the shirt sounds a knock on the door. Or at least, there’s a knock at exactly the same time.

“Blue?” Asami, right outside.

“Come on in,” I say. “I’m finished.”

Asami steps in, wearing heavy black boots, maroon denim pants, an asymmetrically zippered (slanting left) black leather jacket, with the collar folded down, revealing a high-necked maroon turtleneck. She stands just past the threshold, leather glove-covered hands on her hips, cocking her body sideways, looking like some cross between a biker gang member I saw in a mover once, and a fighter pilot ace from the war.

She glances at my bed. “No, you aren’t finished.”

I see where she’s looking, and wave a dismissing hand at the tie. “We’ll be here all week, if you leave that up to me. And anyway, it’ll look dumb.”

She shifts her weight, and peels off her gloves. “You don’t know how?”

I hold up a hand, one finger raised, my mouth hanging open. I’m looking for more words than I can find. “Uh… no.” The hand drops.

She slides the gloves into her jacket, walks over to me, and she’s unbuttoning my vest. My breath catches for a moment, and her eyes find mine, and then dart away. I think maybe her lips tease a smile. She slides the vest off of me, and I let my arms hang limp. There’s some part of me that means this as an invitation, but I don’t know how much, or how loud it’s speaking.

And then she’s away, grabbing the tie off the bed. She fastens the last button on my shirt, and flips up the collar, then slides the tie around my neck.

I’m suddenly a little embarrassed. “You don’t have to do this for me.”

“I’m not going to,” she says, swinging around behind me. I can feel her breath on the back of my neck. Her hands take mine, and I know I should be watching the movements she’s guiding me through, but I can’t keep my eyes open. I can’t do anything but focus my attention on the overwhelming sensation, on the touch, the shared movement.

It’s done. Too soon. But I feel her hands undoing the work, until the tie is again laying open across my shoulders.

“Now you try,” she says.

My eyes burst open, and I flush. “I… don’t think I can. Not after just once.”

I hear the start of a laugh, and feel it on the nape of my neck. It sends a tremble down my spine, and she must notice, because her hands are on my shoulders. They slide down, down, finding my hands again. This time I watch. I force my eyes open, force myself to follow the movements. It’s an easy thing, once you pay attention. And I’m good with my hands, anyway.

I smile. That’s how this all started. I’m good with my hands. She’d asked me to show her, and I had. I’d placed my hand on her exposed leg, and gently, delicately, navigated my way forward and upward, until I found the gun.

Her hands linger on my collar for a moment, and then go to undo the knot again. My hands catch hers, however. Almost an involuntary movement, but the holding, that is all intent, on my part.

The air feels warm, heavy, like it’s holding us in place. So thick we can't budge. Which it may as well be, as neither of us are moving. Not except to breath, and even that’s a subtle thing. Still, she’s close behind me. So close that I can feel her breathing, can feel her chest rising and falling in rhythmic time against my back.

I close my eyes, and bring her hands up slowly, until there’s only a whisper of space between them and my lips. I feel a lapse in her breathing, and I kiss her hands, each one. Lips dancing softly across her fingers, to her wrists. I take her hands then, and turn myself around. I guide her hands to my hips, and place them there. We’re close, still. So close that I can feel her chest rising, faster now. So close that I can feel her breath on my mouth. So close that I can taste it, the memory of her touch replaced by the desire to feel it again, the promise I’m telling myself of what it must be like.

I don’t ask to kiss her, not this time.

I press my lips - and my whole self - against her, wrapping my arms around her body, grabbing behind her neck, and pulling her in tight. I feel her breath, her heartbeat, and her desire. Her mouth tells me of it with profound eloquence, a poem without words.

Our lips part, but only just. Her arms are around me now too, untucking my shirt, hands sliding against my lower back. Her fingers find purchase, and squeeze. Our foreheads are pressed together, and we’re breathing, nearly panting.

My eyes open, and it looks to me as if hers do as well, as if we're synchronized. Her eyes are green flames, and the warmth in them ignites something deep inside me. I feel like the normally cool waters in my eyes must be steaming, right now. Damn near boiling. 

“Blue.” She says it as a whisper, a soft thing, so light it can be carried forth on one breath.

“I know,” I say.

And I do. I know that I can’t. I’m an employee. And I know that I shouldn’t. I’m a traitor. I know that no matter how this feels - no matter how she feels, right now - it’s not real. It can’t be. But I know it feels real. More real, more tangible than anything has since I showed up in this damn city. My whole world has been torn to pieces, replaced with shadows, nightmares, and red, red all over.

This is real. And I know it. I may not know a single thing in the world besides this, but I just don’t care about anything else. Of this - of her - I’m sure.

But that doesn’t mean she is. I can feel her fingers digging into me, and that doesn’t seem to be a gesture of confusion. But, well… I remember that first night. Her… policy, regarding employees. I know she was willing to bend the rules for me yesterday; but today’s not yesterday. And when we went to bed last night, there was something stopping her. Well, not stopping her, ultimately. She did come to bed. But slowing her down. Something holding her back. A fear. That she couldn’t. Well, maybe she still can’t. I may not like that, but I can respect it.

I feel her fingers yield. Only fractionally, but I’m entirely aware of her touch, right now. And the possibility that it may soon be absent. 

“We have a busy day,” Asami says. “And a busy night too. We-”

“I know,” I say. “And I’m sorry. I know the rules. I know yesterday was just… yesterday. It was the present, but now it’s the past, and-”

“Past is prologue, Blue.” She corner of her lip raises, and her eyes gleam.

I bite my lip.

“You know…” Her hands move, and begin slowly undoing my tie. “I think we were doing this backwards. Me dressing you. That’s not how this normally works, is it?”

“This?”

She tosses the tie on the floor, and undoes the top button on my shirt. She shrugs.

“I mean… it’s not that I don’t… that I don’t want to. I do. I mean, I really do. But... there’s that thing about me being an employee, and I know how you… last night… you just didn’t seem… sure.”

“Are you sure yourself?”

“Of course.” The words come out, and I don’t have time to inspect them first. Seeing them live, however, they look like nothing but the most plain truth that ever was. I don’t know if I should, but I know that I do. That’s one thing I know in this city. Maybe that’s all I have to hang on to, to keep me floating, but it’s something.

“How about you?” I ask.

“You know, before last night, I’d have said no. That it was a damn stupid idea. And that, even if it wasn’t, I couldn’t. Vulnerabilities. Risks. Exposures. You know how it is.”

“Well…” I let the silence speak, hoping it will give voice to my question. But it doesn’t say the words for me. “What about after last night?”

“Not after. During. You left your door open, and I walked through it. I figured maybe… you could keep yours open, and I could crack mine. Maybe just a little. No promises where it goes, or if it goes anywhere at all. This… well, it’s the present. So I’m not saying anything about anything that’s even one second in the future. And I’m not promising anything either, other than that… maybe I want to see where this door goes. That’s it.”

I’m choking on something, and I swallow it down. It feels warm, and I’m tingling all over. But, there’s still that one, nagging thing, jabbing at my mind.

“That’s plenty, Asami. More than I can ask for. But… that employee thing… isn’t that a rule?”

She smiles, and her hands set to work on the next button down. “It was a rule.” Past tense... and I’m on fire. “But it strikes me as... anachronistic, in this moment. So I’m changing it. In case you forgot, I’m Asami Fucking Sato. I make the rules. And I break them to pieces, when I don’t want them anymore.”

I smile, teasing. “But we could miss the start of that mover. You seemed so excited about it. We-”

I’m interrupted by her mouth on mine. Her red lips, full and sweet as ripe berries, are eager, hungry, and her tongue slides into my mouth. Her hands push under my shirt, deciding apparently to forgo the slow road of buttons, and her fingers dig once again into the muscles of my back.

She pulls herself free for a moment, sighing, gasping, exhaling and inhaling all at once. Her whole body is heaving. 

“Don’t you worry Blue," she whispers. "We won’t miss the climax.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of the scene: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3701771
> 
> That last line... if you're reading it, I'm blushing. But... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Teen rating still intact! 
> 
> Anyway, here's a little kicking down the fourth wall, talking about my writing process, how this comes together, etc. Read if you like that sort of thing, but be warned, it might just be self indulgent drivel. 
> 
> As you've no doubt noticed by now, I enjoy baiting and switching, teasing, flirting, interrupting, etc. And that was the plan, with this chapter. I was going to build to the hand holding moment, then there was going to be something that cut things off, or one of them would stop for some reason. Then, they'd drive to the theater, and have a serious/angsty talk about work, and what's coming. Only I didn't know how I was going to end that moment. So the plan tonight was to play around with various ideas, until I found something that worked. I certainly wasn't going to post anything. However - and this will sound very corny, but oh well - sometimes you just have to listen to the characters, let the scene unfold, and then write down what happens. That sounds dumb, maybe, but sometimes things really do work that way. I decided to roll with it, and then, once it was finished, I loved the result. Enough so that I really felt dumb for wanting to go another direction in the first place. But that's writing. For all the outlining that can be involved, it is a heavily improvisational activity. 
> 
> Tl;DR version: The author wanted to be an asshole, but the characters just wanted to do the thing. So the author got out of the way, and let them. I mean, the initial tease was 60,000 words ago. 
> 
> Also, I did spend some time working on my outline. This is Chapter 31. As it stands, I think this will finish with about 50. So, we have a long way to go yet. However, the way this story works, how internally important/referential all the scenes are, and how we're building towards several different twists/payoffs... I just don't think I can skip anything at all. It's incredibly dense, but I like it that way. I think it adds to the atmosphere. So I'm not going to skip anything. We're basically going to stick with Blue, for 95% of her waking moments, all the way from her arrival in Republic City, until (SPOILER GOES HERE). I can honestly say I'm really excited about everything, going forward. (She has very interesting waking moments.) It's just a matter of writing it well. Or rather, letting the story write itself, when the situation calls for it.


	32. Chapter 32

I’m fumbling with my tie again. It’s not that Asami’s earlier directions were inadequate, so much as… well… my hands are still shaking a little, just thinking of it. Maybe a memory from a few minutes ago shouldn’t have that effect; but whether it should or shouldn’t doesn’t turn off the buzzing inside of me.

I flop it open across my shoulders for the third time. “Shit.”

Asami zips up her jacket, and walks over. Standing in front of me, as quick as you’d tie a shoelace, she knots the tie together, and draws it tight around my neck.

“There are…” Her eyes dart around, counting things I can’t see. “Thirty outfits in there, that have ties. Thirty. Either you’re going to have to learn or…” She tugs the tie, and my head comes forward. She gives me a light peck on the lips. “Or, we’re going to requie thirty more lessons.”

I smile. “Thirty? I don’t know, Asami. I’m just a small town Water Tribe girl; you can’t expect me to learn your big city customs that fast.”

She flips the tie into my face, and laughs. “I don’t know about that, Blue. You seemed to be an awfully quick learner, earlier.” She glances at the bed, and smirks. “First, I show you something you swear you’ve never even seen before, and just a few minutes later… well, your hands seemed to remember those movements just fine.”

I’m at a loss for words, mostly because my brain isn’t really in the mood to look for them, right now. It’s already drifting back, and damn, I didn’t think you could fantasize about something that literally just happened, but...

Asami tosses me the vest, and I button it up. My hands are able to manage this task easy enough. Fully dressed again, I lament the fact. The clothes feel like wasted space, constricting, an artificial barrier. I wanted to lay with her, after, just let the whole afternoon pass us by. Varrick’s not going anywhere. And do we really have to break into Kuvira’s place tonight? Shit, do we really have to do that at all, ever? It doesn’t strike me as the best idea, knowing what I do about her. And knowing that I kind of threatened to kill her. I’m not sure I want the chance to carry that out, now that I’ve had a little time to let my anger diminish.

But as tired as I seemed, Asami seemed at least that invigorated. As if she wasn’t spent in the slightest. Like I was a pot of coffee, and she… I laugh a little to myself, thinking about the other implications that could have. Not what I meant, exactly. But now that I’m thinking of it, there’s a tremble that goes up and down my spine.

Asami puts her hand on my shoulder. “Ready for work?”

I elbow her in the ribs, gently. “Fuck no. I wanted to stay in bed for another hour.”

She hits me with an elbow of her own, not any harder than mine. “I think you would’ve stayed in bed for a week, if I’d have let you.”

“So long as you stayed with-” I catch myself, a little too late. Shit. Too much. Too far. Too soon. She just said she didn’t want to hear a single word about the future, just enjoy the now. And here I am, saying things like that. “Sorry.”

Asami shugs. “You’re a sweet girl, Blue. And you say some nice things. Of course, this city doesn’t take too kindly to sweet people, or nice things. It’s never really had room for them, and neither have I.”

I look at the floor. “Asami… I know, I-”

“But maybe that’s changing. Anyway, don’t be sorry. Sorry’s never done a damn thing for anybody. It’s just a word for things that are already done, that you can’t take back. But would you, in this case, if you could?”

“Would I take that back? I mean... no.”

“Then why be sorry?”

“I… that’s a damn good question.”

“I know, isn’t it? And here’s the damn good answer, one more time: There’s no good reason, so don’t be.” She looks me in the eyes. “Sorry’s about the past. And I don’t give a damn about your past, Blue, it’s your present I’m interested in.”

She nudges me with her shoulder. “Now come on, let’s go. We’ve got a mover to hate, and work to do.”

\-----

Driving into town, and I’m still thinking about what she said. About my present, her present, and what exactly the two are doing together. Getting all knotted up, as near as I can tell. That was my job, and I guess I’ve done it well. Better than Chief could’ve ever hoped, if I had to guess. Shit, it would be the easiest thing in the world to slip away to the bathroom, during the mover, and ring the police. “Hey, there’s going to be a break-in tonight, at the penthouse suite of the Republic City Regent.” They could set up a sting, and then Asami Sato goes to prison. Maybe she’d even strike a deal; maybe she’d turn informant, and bring her father down with her. Maybe it would be that easy, to tear down this whole empire. Maybe I could do it, with just one phone call.

But I’m not going to. Even as I entertain the possibility, I don’t for a moment think that I could do it. It’d be like flying, that way. I can picture myself soaring through the air; but it’s never going to happen. There are just some universal laws that can’t be broken. It feels like I’m bound by one, right now. Like betrayal is as impossible as anything ever could be.

After all, if she’s interested in my present, the least I can do is be interested in hers. And I am. Very interested. Invested, even. I wonder why, but I don’t think this is the sort of question anyone has ever found an answer to. Why? There’s no good reason. Never has been, and never will be. Because this isn’t about reason. It stands totally opposite, in fact.

I glance over at her, then decide it doesn’t even need to be a glance. She knows. And she doesn’t mind. I don’t have to avert my eyes, and I don’t have to pretend I’m looking somewhere else. I can just stare. Watch her hair blow in the wind, and let myself tumble down the lush green hills in her eyes. I don’t have to be sorry, and I’m not.

The corner of her lip twitches up. She notices, and she’s not sorry either.

We don’t say a word. Just listening to the wind rush by, and the music of that V12. I think I’m really starting to love the way it sounds.

\-----

We miss the first five minutes of the mover, and I don’t care, not even a little. So far as I can tell, it doesn’t much matter, in terms of the plot. A giant robot shows up, piloted by some aliens. It’s supposed to smash Republic City to bits, in order to set the stage for a larger invading force. Why they didn’t just send the entire force all at once, I have no idea.

Probably because the good guys couldn’t win, in that scenario. And in the movers, the good guys always win, no matter what. The world doesn’t work that way, of course. The good guys don’t win, but Asami does. I guess that means she isn’t a good guy, which also means I’m not either. I find myself smiling at that, for reasons I can’t figure out.

Anyway, in the initial attack, some overly muscled up handsome guy loses his wife and two kids. The wife doesn’t get so much as a line, just a rolling tear, and then her eyes are shut. I know now that people don’t actually die that way. Their eyes stay open, staring out into the endless void into which they’ve fallen.

Of course this guy swears vengeance, and of course he’s some ex-military war hero - though he’s way, way too young for that - who jumps right back in the seat of his biplane, and leads an assault on the robot. And I guess the military is just fine with this.

Still, they all get swatted right out of the sky, or blasted, since the robot has a giant cannon attached to its right arm. Asami’s grumbling something about just bombing the damn thing. Why would you fly straight at it? Her face is in her palms now, more often than she’s looking at the screen.

Our hero pilot survives the crash, though, and right before he blacks out, he mutters some prayer to the Avatar Spirit, to save humanity in its darkest hour. We’re all really sorry, I guess. The alien attack has brought us together. We’re ready to be together now, to embrace balance. Now my face is buried in my hands also. I’m getting hit with this myth for the second time today? It’s like the most embarrassing parts of home are following me around.

Right when he passes out, a giant beam of light shoots down from the sky, and… no.

He stands back up, and keeps standing, keeps going up, until he’s the same height as the robot. He’s not quite himself though, since he’s glowing now. His whole body, and his eyes especially. He and the man in the robot suit proceed to trample what little remains of Republic City, sloppily boxing with one another. He doesn’t bend anything at all, even though there’s literally an ocean right there. I wonder if the writers just didn’t know that part of the myth, or maybe they just decided this was a more satisfying ending. Either way, the guy pulls a mountain up out of the earth, then smashes the robot over the head with it, until the pilot and everybody else inside are dead.

Presumably. They don’t show the bodies. Just him shrinking, and celebrating with a crowd of people. Were they just standing around, watching that? Idiots would’ve been stomped to death fifteen minutes ago. The man’s eyes are still glowing though, and he shimmers into nothingness. He reappears right in his home - which is not even dusty, much less destroyed - and finds the bodies of his wife and children laying in beds. For some reason, I guess people are just leaving dead bodies at home now. Anyway, he puts his hands on them, and now they’re glowing too, and of course they come back to life.

They all hug, and the glowing light seeps out of him, and shoots back up into the sky. As the credits roll, I wonder why the rest of the city has to stay dead, and think that Avatar Spirit must be kind of a dick. And aren't there still all those other aliens? How is this even a victory?

The audience erupts in applause, and Asami quickly leaps to her feet, grabs my hand, and drags me right out of there. Well, she tries to. Turns out she doesn’t have to pull very hard, because I’m sprinting right along beside her.

We stare at each other, wide eyed, in the lobby.

“That wasn’t the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen,” she says. “But it’s probably in the top ten.”

I just shake my head, and nod over the concessions area. “Want to grab a soda, and bitch about it? Before we go talk to the man responsible?”

She nods, and walks that way, hand still in mine. We get some looks. Not because of the hands though; but because she’s very much here as Asami Sato. A face that people know, and people fear. We’re given a wide berth. If intimidation is the goal of this whole trip, we’re off to a good start.

Asami orders something called a Green River, and we sit the glass in the center of a table, each with our own straws. One sip, and I’m nearly overwhelmed by the sweetness. I make a face, and people are looking. They look away, though, when I notice them noticing me. Being with Asami makes you scary too, I guess.

“They’re a little afraid of you too,” Asami whispers under the din, apparently after reading my mind. “You know, they’re starting to tell stories.”

I roll my eyes. “The legend of Blue the brave, who barfed at the sight of blood.”

Asami laughs. “There’s an alliterative quality to that, which helps. ‘Red Raven’, right? If I can be honest, though, I really hate that name. But it works.”

“Works?”

“Reputations are weapons, Blue. Weapons so powerful they act as a deterrent. And that’s the best kind, by far. You’ll never lose a fight that the other person is too scared to start.”

“So are your father's people spreading rumors about me, then? Do they have a name for me yet?”

“They don’t, no. But they are talking. Talking to bartenders, and to tabloid writers. We’re great business, for them. But the Beifong’s are actually helping out quite a bit, with that whole thing about you bloodbending Suyin.”

I bang my head on the table. “That again? That’s not even possible. And even if it was, why would I do it? Why wouldn’t I have just let her die? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Things don’t have to make sense, all the time. Even inflammatory things. Especially inflammatory things, actually.”

I look up, and take another sip of the soda. “At least you got the name right. They don’t even know it’s called bloodbending. Which… how do you know about that?” I narrow my eyes. “Did some old Water Tribe fling tell you the story?”

Now its Asami’s turn to roll her eyes. “You’re really hung up on that, aren’t you?”

“I’m not, no. It’s just…”

“It’s just that you’re a little jealous, which is understandable, but in fact totally unnecessary. Like I told you, that ‘Water Tribe weakness’ is largely my own creation, mixed with tabloid bullshit. But even if it wasn’t, the present should never feel jealous of the past.”

The present. That’s me, I guess. I sit up, and smile. “Sor- No, I’m not. Anyway, if not from that, how do you know that story?”

“I’ve read both volumes of _Myths and Legends of the Southern Water Tribe_. I probably know that story better than you do. I even know the little rhyme that goes with: Bender, Breaker, Soldier, Sailor… you know the one.”

“I do. But why on earth would you subject yourself to that monster?”

She shrugs. “It was for work.”

“Must’ve been an awfully big job, to wade through… two thousand pages? I don’t know, I never actually read the whole thing.”

Asami waves a hand, dismissing the notion. “No bigger than any other. All jobs are big enough to get you killed, though, if you don’t take them seriously, and prepare adequately.”

“Well, what was it? Did you have to…” I think about the depths of Asami’s preparation. I think to the contacts, how real they looked. How she can change her voice, her mannerisms, everything about her. “You disguised yourself as a Water Tribe girl once? For a job?” I picture Asami in all blue, with a fur wrap around her waist, and with eyes like mine. Not bad. Not bad at all. I laugh, and slap the table. “Do you have any of those old outfits? And how about the contacts? I’d pay to see you with blue eyes. We could be the...” I wave my hands, gesturing at an invisible marquee. “The Republic City Blues. Get it?”

Asami shakes her head, and smiles a little, humoring me. “I get it. Not sure I want it, but I get it. Anyway, no, I wasn’t exactly a Water Tribe girl. I couldn’t get tan enough to pull of full Water Tribe if lived on the beach. I’d just turn red, and flake away into oblivion. I was half Water Tribe, half Fire Nation. Not many people have that combination of parents, so no one really knows what traits to look for. Which helps. But... if you wanted to see me like that, you wouldn’t have to pay me, but Liuli. I lost my blue contacts years ago. And as far as the outfits go, I mostly just dressed like you are now, but I don't have them anymore.”

“Oh, did you give me any-”

“No. We’re built a little too differently for that. I bought everything new for you. And anyway…” she raises her eyebrows suggestively. “I don’t think we’ve quite hit the wearing each others' old clothes stage of the relationship just yet.”

“Well,” I say, calling her eyebrow raise with one of my own. “When we do, I’m taking that jacket for a spin.”

“When?”

I sink back into my chair. There I go again, with more future talk.

Asami takes another sip of the Green River, and laughs. She pushes the drink towards me, and I gesture ‘no thanks’ with a wave of my hand. She stands, and nods. I do the same. She hooks her arm in mine, and we set to walking.

“You’re a confident girl, Blue. And that’s good. Necessary, even, in this world. If you want to win, you have to know that it's a given. Not believe it. Belief is for people who don’t know shit. You have to know it. As surely as the sun rises, you win.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

She shrugs. “Then you’re dead anyway, and it doesn’t matter much at that point, does it?”

“I suppose not.”

I glance up, and notice we’re walking past a line of tourists, towards the doors to the main office building for Blackstone Pictures.

“We’re skipping the line?” I ask.

Asami elbows me playfully. “Of course we are. We’re not taking the normal tour.”

“And how-”

“Blue, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten who I am already.”

She turns, and as she sets her eyes on me, I know. I smirk. “You’re Asami Fucking Sato. And you don’t wait in lines.”

She nods. “See, you are a quick learner. And I'm not even talking about...” She moves her hand around subtly. It takes me a moment, but I recognize the pattern, and... oh. I have to choke down a laugh, and Asami bumps me. "What's so funny, Blue? This is work. It's time to be serious."

I shake my head, but it's true. This is work now, and it's a damn strange gig.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Korra makes my title a pun, and I like it way too much. 
> 
> Also, 'Bender, Breaker' is basically 'Tinker, Tailor'.
> 
> First comment on this will be the 400th overall. Which is awesome. Like half of them are mine, because I'm always really excited to talk about my work. But still. I'm super grateful for both the volume and quality of the comments. I can honestly say several commenters have, in some ways, helped to craft the narrative of this story. (Whether they know it or not, right now.)


	33. Chapter 33

The hallways are lined with mover posters, the stars of which are staring out at Asami and I. Would’ve been, not too long ago, that I’d have been staring at them instead. Looking into the cold, hard eyes of the pretend detectives, hats pulled low, guns wielded confidently, I’d have smiled. I’d have wished like nothing else for a chance at that life. For wet alleys, filled with steam rising from vents, hiding infinite mysteries. But I’d search them out. I’d chase the bad guys through the mist, bending the water up to trip them, then say something cool, and gun them down. Some girl in a red dress would thank me - she’d always be wearing a red dress - and I’d sweep her off her feet.

Well, that much has actually happened. Sort of. I found the girl in the red dress, but she’s the furthest thing from a scared and helpless dame, wandering into a private eye’s office, asking for proof of this thing or that thing, or protection from scary men. This girl in the red dress is the thing those scary men fear, the thing that sends other people running for cops, for protection. And I didn’t exactly sweep her off her feet, so much as we pointed guns at one another, and then… I can’t really say. But here we are, walking down a hallway, arm in arm. I think our feet are firmly on the ground, but I wouldn’t bet money on it. Not even now that I’m on Asami’s payroll, and have plenty to spare.

Asami’s smiling now, as we’re walking. It looks real to me, genuine. Not some mask she’s wearing, trying to appear a lost tourist. Wouldn’t fool anyone anyway. Not right here, and not right now. Even still, her threat is hidden, bubbling just below the surface. If you didn’t know what to look for, maybe you’d miss it. But I’m learning. Beneath that happiness I can see a person from whom you can’t run. Not far, and not successfully. Not without a bullet in your back, then a boot on your neck. I feel the eyes on the posters following us, knowing she’s something beyond them, even. The heros of the screen watch Asami Sato walk by, and silently, they all thank the stars she’s in this world, and not theirs.

The posters are thinning, as we turn down a hallway that’s just a hallway. There aren’t any tourists here, just employees, walking hastily with their heads down, scanning scripts, carrying film rolls, and generally trying not to get fired. Asami steps in front of a girl,  who is carrying a metal tray with four ceramic cups, almost overfull with coffee. She nearly collides with Asami, but stops just short.

The girl doesn’t raise her eyes. “Sorry.” As she attempts to step around, though, her eyes manage to work their way up, up, until recognition dawns in her, blazing hot. She nearly spills the coffee. Really, she does spill the coffee. But with a couple quick gestures, I’m able to keep everything in the cups. Coffeebending is new to me, but already it seems pretty damn useful. Asami’s jacket didn’t get ruined.

“Shit,” the girl mouths, but there isn’t any sound to accompany the motion. She coughs, and that seems to return some volume to her speech. “You’re-”

Asami raises her hand. “Yes, I know. It really is quite the thrill for you, isn’t it?” She reaches out for the tray of coffee. “May I?”

The girl glances at me, I guess expecting that I’ll have some idea what’s going on here. I just shrug, and she quickly returns her eyes to Asami. “Umm… I mean… sure?”

“Thank you,” says Asami, taking the tray. “Where were you taking these?”

“To Mr. Varrick’s office. Ma’am. Wait, can I call you that? I’m sorry if that’s wrong. It kind of makes you sound like an older lady, which you’re not. I mean, obviously. So, umm, Ms. Sato? That’s not too formal, is it? Or is it too inform-”

“Asami is fine, actually.”

Asami hands me the tray, and I take it, not knowing what else to do. If this is some sort of plan to sneak into Varrick’s office, I can hardly think of a worse one. “Here’s your coffee, sir. By the way, I’m Asami Sato, in case you didn’t know. Here to possibly threaten your life.” Of course, he would know. He’d have to. And so would a hundred people on the way.

Asami raises an eyebrow. “Four cups. I’m guessing not all for him. He has guests?”

“Yes. Himself and… well… three other men. So yes, four total.”

“Mover types, or do they represent… other business interests? And you said men, so Zhu Li isn’t included in that number?”

The girl laughs. “She’s not, but she’s around. He’s meeting with mover writers. About a script. As for other interests... I’m sorry, I don’t-”

Asami waves her hand. “No, of course you wouldn’t. Charitable work. Humble man, Varrick. He tries to keep it quiet. It’s for the best, probably. In any case, it’s a shame his meeting is about to be cut short. Especially if it concerns a followup to that masterpiece we just… endured.” She looks at me, and I try to force a smile that says “yes that movie was terrible, but also, what are we doing?”

Asami places her hand on the girl’s shoulder, and she flinches. The corner of Asami’s lip rises, at that, and she glances at her hand. “Sorry. We’ll take the coffee, ok? It’s fine.”

The girl nods. Not agreeing that anything is fine, but happy enough to be away from Asami.

I just stand, holding the coffee as still as any table could.

Asami glances at me. “What?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“The coffee?”

“The coffee. This is our plan? Sneak in, disguised as ourselves, only delivering coffee? Asami, I don’t think anyone’s going to buy that.”

“Of course they won’t. But I’m not here to sell a damn thing, so I couldn’t care less what they buy or don’t.”

“Then why are we stealing coffee from terrified interns?”

Asami shrugs. “Would you believe I just wanted coffee?”

“Would I believe you wanted coffee? Yes. Would I believe you _just_ wanted coffee? Not a chance.”

She smiles, and it’s almost a professorial look on her face now. Like the “Fucking” in between Asami and Sato is a degree to be earned, if you just pay enough attention, and follow her lead. Which would make me… Korra Fucking Blue? Or maybe the other way around? I don’t really know how that would work, with just one name. Blue is all the title I need, in any case. Simple. To the point. And the way Asami says it… well, it sounds like something - someone - worth being.

Asami’s not speaking, so I’m assuming she wants me to fill in the blanks. So I set myself to doing just that. The coffee is water, basically. I’ve bent it already. So she wants me to have it, because I could bend it. Obviously, you could mess somebody up pretty bad with coffee. Or you could threaten to. But I’ve already got my water flask, and I’m sure she’s got a gun. So we’re going to be frisked, I guess. We might lose those things. But if they’re competent enough to cover that, then they wouldn’t be so stupid as to let us bring the near equivalent of boiling water in, would they?

I clear my throat. “You’re arming me with the functional equivalent of four clips of ammunition. Though how you’re expecting to get it through the door, I have no idea.”

“I’m not expecting to, honestly. Not really even hoping to. But Varrick is… well, you’ll see. For now, ‘eccentric’ will suffice. The lesson, though, is this: Don’t defeat yourself; make your adversary do it. Of course it would be fantastically stupid for them to allow you to bring coffee in. But people do stupid things all the time. Never fail to give them that chance.” Asami lifts one of the cups from the tray, and takes a sip. “Also, I did want a little coffee. Something bitter to balance the sweet I just had. Will three clips suffice?”

“Recalling your earlier lesson, Professor Asami F. Sato, I’m going to say yes. Because we’re going to win. I know it like I know the sun’s going to rise in the morning. And if I’m wrong about either, then we’re fucked anyway, and it just doesn’t matter.”

Our eyes meet, and our lips rise in the same motion, making the same shape. Asami nods. “Blue.” It’s a word, a color, a name, and right now, a high compliment. Blue like the ocean, Blue like the sky, with meaning as deep and infinite as both.

Asami sets to walking again, with assured steps. Down hallways, turning left, then right, then one and then the other, until I have no idea where we are. There are stair too, going up, always up. She walks like she belongs, because she does. Wherever she is, she belongs. And no one questions it. Not with actions, words, or so much as a single sideways look. We just go on by, walking among them like ghosts made of flesh.

Until we reach a set of double doors, wooden, deliberately carved, and outlined with gold trim. They’re audacious things, too large and too gaudy by far. They tell me quite a bit about the kind of person who would sit behind them. Eccentric, Asami had said? I believe that. For all the excess embodied in the doors, the two men standing in front of them are without frills. Just the sort of overgrown toughs I’ve gotten used to seeing, around these parts.

I think back to something else Asami said. Something about always winning fights the other person is too scared to start. I think guards the size of two normal people put together probably benefit from that pretty often. You see them, and some prehistoric part of your brain says to back down. But I don’t. And neither does Asami.

She just smiles, and it’s as terrible and beautiful as the view of lightning in a slate grey sky, while you’re bobbing in a too-small boat, on an increasingly angry sea. “Hello. Would you tell Varrick that Asami Sato is here to see him? It’s really rather urgent.”

One of the men swallows. “We can’t do that. No. Sorry. He’s in a meeting right now, and-”

“Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time. I’m Asami Sato. Asami _Fucking_ Sato. Do you know who that is?”

The man nods.

“Do you know what that means?”

He nods again.

“See, I don’t think you do. Because if you knew, you’d open that door, right now, rather than making me break your...” She scans him with surgeon’s eyes. “Fibula, I think. The way your ankle rolls inward, just standing there, you’re already stressing the outside portion of your lower leg too much. While executing a dynamic fighting movement, that would be greatly exacerbated, and easily exploited.”

Both guards puff themselves up, and I can’t help but think it looks silly. Like an extra hair of height and width might be enough to turn Asami around, and send her scurrying away. Of course, they don’t seem to think it’s going to work. They don’t seem to think they’re going to win. In fact… the defeat is already on their faces, in their eyes, as plain as anything.

I’m laughing, and three sets of eyes dart to me. “I… I’m sorry,” I choke out, then manage to compose myself. “It’s just so obvious. You’ve already given up, but you’re trying to act tough- no, you’re trying to _look like_ you’re acting tough. Just cut the bullshit, and open the doors already.”

For half a moment, I think I see a glimmer of something through the haze of threat on Asami’s face. Whatever it is, I think I like it.

The men each knock on the door, simultaneously. There’s a moment of silence, and then it’s shattered to pieces.

“What?” From the other side of the door. Directly on the other side, like the speaker is leaning right up against the door… looking through the peephole. “I’m in the middle of a very important meeting right now, and I can’t have it interrupted…” I hear murmuring from the other side. “For anything less important than Asami Sato, of course! What a brilliant surprise! Honor of honors! Tell her to come back tomorrow.” There’s the sound of footsteps, walking away.

The guards at the door shrug. “You heard the man.”

“Varrick, how are you enjoying the script for _Black Sails in the Sunset_?” Asami asks, projecting her voice.

The footsteps come scurrying back. “It’s amazing, thank you. The sort of swashbuckling epic to really put asses in the seats, a guaranteed blockbuster… and they tell me, an exclusive offer to Blackstone Pictures. So how do you know about it?”

Asami laughs. “How do I know about it? Why, a mover maker such as yourself should never want such a thing spoiled. Suffice it say, I do know. Furthermore, I set up this meeting. The men in your room, right now - that’s right, all three of them - are not in fact writers, but some of my father’s most feared killers. Either you open this door, or they open you up in a series of very uncomfortable ways.”

The doors open right away, and a man bursts through them, immediately sliding behind one of his guards. He points a trembling finger back inside, where three men sit, looking completely confused, and nothing like trained killers. As the two bodyguards roughly escort them out, they loudly profess their innocence.

Varrick, for his part, just hides behind a potted plant.

Asami walks over, and bends the greenery away. “Varrick, shall we go inside?”

Immediately, he’s at full height again, pointing his substantial chin right at Asami’s face. That, combined with this wavy hair, and impossibly thin mustache, give me the impression of a starving artist. His clothes, though, are the finest tailored Water Tribe gear I’ve seen in ages. No doubt, he’s not starving. He marches back into his office, and we follow.

Everything that Hiroshi Sato’s office was - all cramped utility - this place is the opposite. It’s a testament to useless excess, and admirable in that way. If you’re going to go for something, go all the way, I guess.

Varrick folds his hands on his desk. “So, Asami Sato, to what do I owe this exceedingly gracious - and nearly fatal - visit?”

Asami smiles. “Fatal? It was never close to that. Those men were just writers.”

His face turns red. “So you-”

“Made that up. Yes.”

“How did you-”

“I walked behind someone carrying your meeting schedule for the day, and read it over their shoulder. The script title was present. Then, when taking this coffee - which is terribly over-roasted, by the way - I ascertained that you were meeting with three men. Finally, I happen to know how cowardly you are, thus negating any chance you would let the innocent writers defend themselves, before throwing them out.”

Varrick is fuming, but still grinning. “Well, Asami, you can have this round. But your victory will be fleeting, forgotten as soon as I do… this! Aha!” He leaps to his feet, and pulls on a lamp. It just falls over with a thud. Nothing else happens.

Asami and I glance at one another, pursing our lips, and raising an eyebrow.

Varrick is blinking, and all the red in his face drains out. He glances up, at something behind us, and his face lights up. “Zhu Li! I’m so happy you’re here! The thing… it didn’t work...”

I turn to see a woman in the doorway, wearing a grey dress, with a darker grey jacket over it. She has sharp features, and the way she’s examining the room, clinically, dispassionately… not unlike Asami… I think her looks aren’t the only thing sharp about her. She adjusts her glasses.

“Varrick, sir,” she deadpans. “You don’t have a trapdoor in this room, and that lamp isn’t a lever triggering anything. That was a mover set you made last year.”

He laughs. “Of course it was. I knew that. I was just… testing Asami and… who are you? And why do you have my coffee?”

I shrug. “I’m Blue. Asami’s-”

“Assistant,” he says, slapping his leg. “Of course! Why, Asami, I always knew you’d come around on the idea. Years spent playing the dark and mysterious loner, but I always knew better. I knew that someday, you’d need someone to...”

“Do the thing?” asks Asami. She grins at me, and winks. “Blue here can do some really spectacular things, as it happens.”

Varrick twists his mouth to the side. “Well, I have no idea what you’re talking about. You really need to be more specific, Asami. Barging into people’s offices, threatening them with murderers who aren’t murderers, then going on about ‘things’ - whatever those are - instead of getting to the point of your visit. Which is?”

Asami unfolds a sketch from her pocket, and lays it down on Varrick’s desk. “This is a weapon I found in the hands of an enemy. It was supplied to them by a ‘she’. Now-” Asami glares at the the woman in the doorway. “I could assume it’s her.” She glances back at Varrick. “Which would mean I’d have to kill her.” His hands flash towards a desk drawer, but Asami has a gun on his forehead before he can get there. “Or, you can tell me who you sold this design to. And who ‘she’ is.”

Varrick grits his teeth, and examines the sketch. He shrugs. “I didn’t design that. It looks far too... practical.” He narrows his eyes. “Wait…” He digs around in his drawer, and Asami grips her pistol tighter. He slaps a piece of drafting paper on the desk. “This was my design. You’ll notice that it’s perfectly _im_ practical, by comparison. Gloriously, blissfully so."

Asami lifts up the piece of paper, eying it carefully. She tosses it into Varrick’s face. “This is shit. Barely even a mover prop.”

Varrick shrugs, his palms out. “See? Now next time you come to visit, I’ll have that trap door installed. Maybe it’ll lead to a pool of sharks, or a spike pit, or… something else, because now I’ve told you those ideas. Damn. And those were good ideas. Anyway! Next time you visit, it had better not be about baseless accusations. I’m a mover maker, not a black market weapons designer-slash-producer.”

“Varrick, I’ve bought things from you in the past. As much as it pains me to admit it, some of them were actually worth a damn. You can’t honestly tell me-”

“But I can _dis_ honestly tell you, which is almost as good. Anyway, the design isn’t mine, the gun isn’t mine, and you can’t prove otherwise.”

Asami pulls a hunk of wood out of her jacket pocket, and slams it down on his desk. “You put your initials on the stock, you arrogant fuck.”

“That could be anybody, I mean-”

“Blue, bring the man his coffee.”

I take half a step, then hear a click behind me. Asami and I turn at once, and for the second time, one of those rifles is aimed from behind us. This time, it’s not in Agni Kai hands, but Zhu Li’s. Her expression hasn’t changed a bit. And where the fuck did she get that thing?

Varrick laughs. “Just the thing, Zhu Li. Just the thing.”

Maybe she grins. But only just. My eyes are focused on the barrel anyway.

Asami holsters her pistol, slowly. Very slowly. She smiles, and raises her hands. “Of course... Varrick didn’t design that gun. Not really. You did.”

She shrugs. Maybe. Again, I can barely tell. “I did my job. I refined a brilliant design into something practical. Something easy to use, clean, and manufacture.”

“You really did. It’s an amazing specimen. Like your mind jumped twenty years ahead of everyone else. And I’m including myself in that. I’d pay-”

“It’s not for sale.”

“Everything is for sale.” Asami and Varrick, in stereo.

Zhu Li seems to squeeze the gun just a little tighter. “Varrick, sir. With respect, we have an exclusive deal. Violating that deal - considering with whom you signed it - would not be wise.”

He shrugs. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“We could be tortured and killed. We almost certainly would be, in fact.”

“Oh. Right. It’s not for sale, Asami.” He puts his hand over his mouth, and whispers the loudest whisper that ever was. He aims it at Asami, but it goes everywhere. “But seriously, pay me enough, and it’s for sale. You know how these things work.”

Asami rolls her eyes. “I don’t really need the original design sketches anyway. They’re only of academic interest to me, at this point. Granted, my academic interest is substantial, but even still. I have a functional model, taken apart. I can work from that easily enough, both to refine and improve the weapon.” She glances at Zhu Li. If she’s hoping to see a reaction, she’s disappointed.

Instead, the woman still just has the rifle trained on Asami, and I’m still holding the tray of coffee. I’ve shifted it, though, so it’s balanced exclusively on my left arm. My right hand has the contents of three cups, ready to fire. Asami, somehow, doesn’t seem the least bit worried.

She takes a single step toward Zhu Li, palms open. “I think we’ve gotten a little ahead of ourselves. I shouldn’t have put a gun to Varrick’s head, but it’s not there anymore. So you can lower yours.”

Zhu Li is stone. But I figure her finger could move, at least enough to pull a trigger.

Asami takes another step. She sighs. “The guns were used against myself and Blue here… or, well, they would have been, but circumstances prevented that. Regardless, there was an attempt on my life, and these rifles were instruments in that attempt. I… spoke to one of the men, after the fight. He said the rifles were supplied to them by a ‘she’. Now, is that you?”

“No.”

“I figured, but ok. Good to know. You mentioned a deal earlier, with some people you don’t want to piss off, because they’ll kill you. Sounds to me like a syndicate. And I know it’s not mine. That leaves the Triads, or the Beifongs. You want to help me lean the right way?”

“No.”

“Then I can’t even get to my next question, about whether you know who this ‘she’ is, within whichever family, and how or why she got in contact with those attempted assassins.”

“That I can answer easy enough. I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. We do business here. That’s it. You know how these things work. No judgments, just cold, heartless negotiations, and ultimately, sales. That’s what happened. Varrick made a sale, and created a concept. I took his concept… altered it, and forged it. Apparently he did make one last second... addition. Of course you also know - having been a customer yourself - that we don’t discuss business, except with invested parties. This isn’t your deal, so you don’t get to know anything.”

Asami sighs. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this. You see Blue, over there? That coffee is fire in her hands. I say the word, and it burns Varrick’s face right to the bone. She could melt the eyes right out of his head. Sure, you could shoot me, and then her, at that point. But think of the pain he’d endure. Something tells me, seeing him hurt like that… you couldn’t take it. And of course, you could shoot Blue first instead, but then I’d be free to draw my gun again, and split your skull with a bullet. Which would leave Varrick alone. With me.”

“Unless I tell you who bought the guns.”

“That’s half the deal. You tell us that, and then let us walk out. We forget this whole unfortunate standoff happened, and go back to business as usual. This is the option I’d prefer, for the record. You really do have an amazing mind, Zhu Li. I’d hate for it to become nothing but a stain on the carpet here.”

The moment is not long, but it feels that way. It feels like forever, condensed like canned milk. Everything feels deeper, heavier, concentrated. I’m ready to fire. I should be surprised, but I’m not. Asami didn’t even ask. She just knew I’d do it. Just that easy. Turns out, she was right.

“Beifongs.” Varrick’s voice. “I never met with anyone important. Everything was done through intermediaries they sent. They were careful. So I don’t have any guess about who ‘she’ might be.”

Asami nods. I set the tray down, and let the coffee settle. Zhu Li lowers the rifle, just enough.

Asami and I begin walking to the door, and she pauses, for half a moment, looking at Zhu Li. “Really though, amazing work. Perhaps we can discuss it sometime?”

She gets no response, and so we push ahead, her fingers on her gun, and mine on my water flask. We don’t look back, and as the doors close, we only hear enthusiastic shouting about how easy it would be to install a trapdoor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had art made for this story, and I geeked out. Now, Asami Fucking Sato got to make a crossover appearance in Repairs, Retrofits and Upgrades, Progman's post-canon opus, and I geeked out about that too. In it, she gets to meet/beat on canon Korra, which is awesome, but you really need the context, so you'll find it below.  
> Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2807429/chapters/7364288
> 
> Regarding this chapter: It was going to be two, which is why it's pretty long, by my standards. But it never got to a point where breaking made sense, so you're getting it as one +4000 word chapter. For me, with this story and its 'serialized/episodic' format, that's pretty long. But I think it works. And I really enjoyed writing it. Asami got to flex her muscles, showing why and how she wins. Varrick got to say Varrick things, and Zhu Li got to be a cold, heartless war machine, who basically pulled an assault rife out of thin air. And Korra gets a little more Blue. So it goes.


	34. Chapter 34

The posters watch as Asami and I leave, eyes transfixed as before. This time, I think they look happy. Can’t say that I disagree with that sentiment myself. Any situation where I’ve got some sort of cutting edge machine gun - or any type of gun, really - pointed my way is a situation I’m happy to leave behind.

Of course, Zhu Li never did point the gun at me, did she? It stayed right on Asami the entire time. And yet when I think of it… well, it feels heavy in my mind, and all sorts of other places besides. I didn’t want Asami to get shot. That’s an easy thing to put words to. No explanation required, so no need to worry.

Asami herself certainly didn’t seem worried by it. If she was, it was well hidden. She never appeared out of control, even though, if I had to guess, I’d say she was basically making that whole thing up as she went. I don’t believe for a second she was going to kick that guard in the fibula. You can run with a fracture there, and you can certainly put up a fight. It’d be painful, but not incapacitating. And as for the coffee, and the script writers… she couldn’t have seen either of those things coming, before we were walking down the hallway.

Of course, all of it worked. The guard stands all day, probably. So he’s almost certainly aware of the ankle rolling problem she mentioned, and he probably already gets sore in the area she threatened to break. So it wasn’t about highlighting an area you’re actually going to attack - why tell someone that, after all? - so much as exploiting his fear. She did the same to Varrick, with the threat of imagined assassins. With Zhu Li, she tried, saying I’d melt Varrick’s eyeballs or something. Of course, she didn’t break; he did. And she didn’t look like breaking anytime soon. But then, she didn’t fire either. So Asami found something there too.

All of it worked, because she noticed weaknesses, and exploited them. And all of it worked, because she has a reputation for doing just that. That’s a damn fine feedback loop she’s got going there, and a damn fine reputation. Asami Fucking Sato… throw a curse word in the middle of a name, and all of a sudden, the name itself becomes a curse, something that conjures up images of black spirits doing black deeds in the deepest coldest black of night.

I look at her, walking beside me. She catches my eyes, and flashes half a grin. I smile back. And why not? We won.

“So,” I say. “The Bei-”

Asami quickly brings a finger to her lips. “Not the place for that conversation, Blue. People are used to getting fed fiction here, but that doesn’t mean they can’t pick out the odd truth, from time to time.”

I rub the back of my head. “Yeah… you’re right. I suppose I’m just a little eager. I mean, if it’s… them… then that means she could be… well, she could be her.”

Asami raises an eyebrow. “Eager is understandable, but not an excuse to get careless. So let’s not. You are right, though. While what they told us is not surprising, it certainly does have… implications.”

In time with the last word, Asami’s eyes narrow. There’s venom dripping from that word, intended for someone who I wouldn’t want to be. She sighs, and the threat drains away.

“Our job tonight requires adherence to a very specific timeline, and despite our earlier recreations…” She let’s that word have the stage to itself for a moment. Lets it dance for me. “We seem to be ever so slightly ahead of schedule. We will, of course, need to make certain preparations, back at home. I’ll tell you what we’re doing, and we can also discuss that matter of the guns, their purchaser, and all the potential implications. But first, I was thinking-”

“We can go for a quick little drive, Asami. If you want.”

She smiles. “That obvious? It’ll just be fifteen minutes or so. A quick acquiescence to the scenic route.”

I nudge her with my shoulder. “You sure fifteen is enough?”

“No such thing as enough time with an open road. But it’s what we have.”

\-----

I’m looking around, the entire time. Not at the rolling hills, the blue sky, any of that. Granted, that’s all there, and I see it. But seeing a thing, and really looking at a thing… well, they’re different. Objectively, I have to acknowledge that it all looks nice, but my mind is elsewhere, imagining cars behind us, gunmen in the trees, explosives on the road…

I wonder if this is just how life is now. Life, with death always nearby, always breathing down your neck, looking over your shoulder. I remember Asami’s insistence that we… whatever we are… be a strictly ‘now’ thing. She wouldn’t look forward one second, she said. At the time, that had bothered me. Just a little, but even still. Even a little is a little too much, all things considered.

But I think I’m beginning to get it. When death’s all around, when you really could get shot to pieces at any moment, the next day is fool’s gold. At least, until the next day becomes today. Then you can mine it, and spend it, as sure as the real thing.

I look at Asami, and she is looking forward, in a very literal sense. Her eyes are examining the next bend, cutting the road to ribbons in her mind, before converting that thought to action. Her hands grip the steering wheel as she would a gun, like the car is a weapon she’s launching down the road. I’m in it, and I don’t mind.

Still, I’m glancing in the mirrors, then over my shoulder, then in the trees, then-

“Blue.” Asami, slowing the car down, pulling off to the side of the road. We’re a bit outside of town now, and there’s no traffic coming in either direction. The engine lowers its register, the roar becoming a purr. “Nobody’s trying to kill us at the moment.”

“Oh, I’m sure plenty of people are trying to. They’re just not very close. I mean, with Kuvira in charge, and Su gone-”

Asami sets her eyes on mine. They’re cold, hard. Like daggers, ready to dice me up. “How do you know about that?”

I open my mouth to speak, but Asami holds a hand up.

“And earlier, now that I think of it… you mentioned the bloodbending rumors the Beifongs are spreading about you. Or that some of them even believe to be more than rumor. Doesn’t matter. You even noted that they’re getting the name wrong. Blackbending, some of them are calling it.” Her hand drifts to her side, and wraps around her gun. “I have sources, so I hear things like this. But I haven’t told you any of it yet. You were busy this morning, visiting Sharks. So again, I’m asking you, how do you know about all of this?”

Shit. How do I know about that? Because Chief told me. Because I’m a fucking cop, and she was briefing me. I feel like my heart might break through my chest, like my eyes might come out of my skull, like I-

Just need to flow. Chief told Korra. But I’m not Korra, right now. Not to Asami. I’m Blue, to her. That’s enough. And Blue hasn’t talked to Chief. And she won’t, ever. I think back to Sharks… speaking with Mako, but I’d rather not drag him into this. I think back to the threat made to me, before I even arrived there. I think about walking upstairs, and dealing with those hungover Greenies. I smile. They’d know. They’d know all of this. And when I spoke to that one in particular, I’d pointed to my eyes, and told him they represented my name. Blue. Which makes it all true enough. Or close enough to true. I’m going to believe it, and so will she. If she doesn’t, then I’m dead, and nothing matters much at that point anyway. 

I lick my lips. “I should have told you earlier, I’m sorry-”

“Fuck your sorry, Blue. I don’t want it. I want an explanation, and it had better be a damn good one. I won’t lie, I like you a little bit. But don’t think that’ll save you. Don’t think I won’t kill you, right here.”

I set my eyes on hers, making mine cold and hard also. “Fine. I won’t give you an apology. I’ll give you what happened. But don’t interrupt me again.”

She nods once, slowly.

“Get your gun out,” I say.

She raises an eyebrow.

“Get your gun out, and put it right on my forehead. If you think, for just a moment, that I’m lying to you… pull the trigger.”

Slowly, Asami complies. “You’re confident, Blue.”

“Of course I am. You told me, when we first met, that you don’t kill people just to kill them. You only do it if they give you a reason. Well, I’m not giving you a reason. So you’re not going to kill me.”

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

I feel the cold metal against my skin, and I smile. It’s like when we first met.

“I went to Sharks to get my Southern water, as you know. To heal my wrist. When I arrived, there were three Beifong syndicate members passed out in the corner. I went downstairs to get the water, and chatted with Mako for a bit. Just to see how he was doing. He-”

“Did he know about any of this? Bartenders can be too well informed for their own good, at times.”

“That’s an interruption, Asami. Don’t. But no. He didn’t know anything. Just wanted to bullshit about pool, his brother, things like that.”

Asami tilts her head. “You paused, so this isn’t an interruption. We’re coming back to his brother, at the end of this. Just so you know. Now continue.”

“Fair enough. Mako was bullshitting about something, when I heard noise upstairs. The Greenies were moving, and they were starting to break things. I asked Mako what was going on, and he mentioned that they had demanded protection money the previous night, before passing out. He’d hoped they’d forget about it and leave, when they woke up. No such luck, though. And he's not a very willing fighter, Mako. So he asked if I could take care of them, before they really messed his place up. I did. Really quick. One of the three was still conscious though, and he recognized me from the shootout. He started saying some shit, about me being weak, a coward... and I guess I got a little mad. I took his gun, put it to his head, and interrogated him about everything I could. Not because I really wanted the info, but because I wanted to see him squirm. He told me all about the bloodbending rumors, Kuvira taking over, sending Su to Zaofu, all of it.”

“If that’s true-”

“If?”

“Yes, if. That’s a plausible scenario, but also an easy enough lie to invent. Were the police called?”

“Yes.”

“Ok then. The men will have been booked by now. I’ll make a couple calls when we get home - if we both make it - and see. Three Beifong Syndicate men, arrested at Sharks this morning, probably for some trivial little misdemeanor.”

“Be my guest. You wanted to ask about Bolin?”

She smirks. “I did, yes. I’m surprised you’re in a hurry to get to that. In any case, he’s with that Opal girl, correct?”

“Right.”

“Opal Beifong.”

“I know what her last name is.”

“And do you know why it concerns me?”

“Pretty easy to guess. Their relationship, combined with the syndicate members being comfortable enough to get trashed there, could lead you to believe that Sharks is actually a Beifong place, and has been for a while. Could make you think I’m making that story up to cover the fact.”

“And if it was a Beifong place, what might I assume about you?”

“That I’m working for them.”

“Good. Now dissuade me of that notion.” She shrugs. “Or don’t. I’d encourage the former option, however. It’s in your best interest.”

“Well, first of all, Opal and Bolin haven’t been together for very long at all. No longer than we-” I stop, and lick my lips. “They haven’t known each other any longer than we have. Certainly not enough time to turn a neutral dive of a place into a syndicate spot. But that’s not even the best point. If I were working for them, I could’ve killed you a handful of times by now. And I would have. That would be the ultimate goal, wouldn’t it?”

“A bit flattering, but probably, yes. And I’d argue that you couldn’t have, in fact, but-”

“You slept with me, Asami. You’ve made yourself vulnerable, and-”

Asami moves the pistol to my lips, silencing me. She turns it around, and lowers it, sliding the handle down, down, until it rests in the palm of my hands.

“Asami… what are you doing?”

She shrugs. “Making myself vulnerable. Ending the discussion. Here.” She grabs my wrist, and now our roles are completely reversed. I’ve got a gun - loaded, unlike that first time - pointed between her eyes. She closes them, and takes a deep breath. “This will be an instructive test. If your job is to kill me, then do it.”

The gun is cold, but feels scorching hot in my hands. I don’t want it. Not in my palm, not even near me. But I’ve got it, so I might as well use it. I pull it back from her head, only a microscopic bit, and raise the barrel as quickly as I can, in a flash, until it’s aimed well over her head. I fire.

A shot rings out, and I feel the jolt in my arm. It’s a familiar sensation, taught to my body over countless hours spent at the range. My muscles tense, and my whole body responds. Asami’s doesn’t, however. She’s perfectly still.

“You didn’t flinch,” I say.

“Flinching doesn’t dodge bullets. And anyway-”

I slide across the seat, and press my lips to hers. Slowly, gently, her lips accept the embrace, then return it. She flinches still, almost violently at first, her entire body tensing as my arms wrap around her. I break the kiss, and our lips pull apart, but only just. Still lingering, almost reaching.

“What was that?” she asks.

I press the gun into her hands. “Maybe it was a show of appreciation for you trust. Because, for all of that interrogation, you do trust me. You wouldn’t have given me the gun otherwise. And no matter what you say, you would’ve flinched when I fired, if you thought there was even the slightest chance the bullet was headed your way. Maybe I kissed you to prove that, to show that you’d flinch when you weren’t expecting to be hit with something. Or maybe I kissed you as confirmation that you can trust me. That I’m not here to betray you.”

“Maybe?” Asami opens her eyes, and they’re not daggers anymore, but surgical tools, searching.

I just smirk. “Right. Maybe all of that. Or maybe I just wanted to steal a kiss.”

Asami laughs, and it clears the sound of gunfire from my mind. “You’re a piece of work, Blue.”

I shrug. “I’m a piece of your work, and you’re a damn fine engineer.”

“You really know how to compliment a girl.” Asami’s breath is still on my lips, as she speaks. I’m transfixed for a moment, so much so that I almost miss the peck she gives me. I notice just in time to return fire, but can't manage a direct hit.

And then she’s back to the steering wheel, back to acceleration, then driving, back to looking down the long strip of road.

“We lost a few minutes there,” she says, like we had stopped to help an old lady change a tire, like it was nothing at all. Like we hadn’t pressed loaded guns against one another. Like everything is normal. Of course, for us, maybe it is. Can't say that I mind too much, once the engine starts roaring, and the wind makes her hair dance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Blue gleans the power of the improvised lie - that is at least true enough - from Asami, and then immediately puts that knowledge to use.
> 
> She also comes around to the idea of having a gun pointed at her, a little bit. Or maybe she just doesn't mind as much, when it's Asami doing the pointing.


	35. Chapter 35

It’s a strange thing, taking a scenic drive with someone who just threatened to kill you. And it’s strange that I don’t find it anything worse than strange. Not frightening, terrifying, or anything. Not even off-putting. Just a day at the office. I’ve had a gun pointed at me, or a threat made on my life, basically every day since I arrived in Republic City. I never thought you could get used to such a thing, but here I am.

I remember another officer, back South. An older guy, who had seen quite a bit. When faced with anything most people would find strange, odd, or something like that, he’d just shrug and say “It is what it is.” I always hated that. Wasted words, saying nothing. It is what it is? Well, no shit. What else could it be? But now I’m seeing the wisdom in that. There’s something very profound in accepting what something is, and not giving a damn about it beyond that.

So Asami pointed a gun at me? It is what it is. She had a right to, I suppose. I was stupid to let that information slip, and of course she would want to know how I came by it in the first place. She likes to know everything about everything in this city, so even on a personal level, that spot of ignorance could offend her. But beyond that, it could kill her. I could kill her. Or rather, I could have. Would’ve been the easiest thing in the world, but also maybe the hardest. Pulling a trigger takes very little muscle, only a few millimeters of movement. But it takes mental strength I’m not sure I have. At least, not when its her.

Of course, there’s also the small matter that I’m a cop. Or a secret one, or a pretend one. It’s hard to say, exactly. I’m not on anyone’s books, so I suppose if I had killed Asami, Chief would deny me easy enough. A syndicate hit like any other; throw the girl behind bars. I’d cry and scream about being a tool, being used, and that would all be true. But sometimes tools stop being useful, then you throw them away. It is what it is. Funny, I can imagine Chief saying that very thing.

But still, even as a pretend cop, completely off any record, killing someone just to kill them isn’t the right thing to do. And it’s not the job Chief gave me. I’m supposed to get evidence, or drop a tip, or… something. Just get in, and see what happens, basically. I think maybe such a plan is as vague as it is because I’m a tool Chief doesn’t quite know the proper use for yet, and because I’m disposable. Because I’m working for Asami, and I’m working for Chief, and I’m actually thinking the crime boss might be the one with my best interests at heart. I laugh a little to myself. Funny thing, that. But it is… well, like everything else.

The Sato Estate comes screaming into view, as we go screaming down the road towards it. A looming, imposing thing. Looking around at all the walls, all the sentries, I wonder if these things are new. Well, of course they’re new. But I wonder if there was anything like them, that night. I look at the security, even the massive open expanse of the lawn, and wonder how the Agni Kai managed to get in, do their killing, and get back out. Seems like it would take a siege engine and a few weeks to breach this place, and they walked right in, so far as I know. Asam’s mother didn’t even squeeze off one shot, right? That’s what Dai said. He could’ve been lying, but if he wasn’t, that’s some pretty awful security they had, back then. Making it all the way to the bedroom, without so much as an alarm raised. Because, if one had been, wouldn’t Yasuko have been in that safe room with Hiroshi? I’d have to think so. From the way Dai made it sound, she was the target, and so they probably got her first. Hiroshi got the fuck out. Dai called him a coward for that, and maybe he was. But while people will thank you for dying, you’re always too busy being dead to appreciate it much. Instead, Hiroshi lived, and ruined them. Asami lived, and killed them. Cop or not, that sounds about like justice to me.

We’re pulling into the garage now, and the engine echoes, the sound doubling, quadrupling on itself. It sounds like I’m in an engine rather than a car seat, until Asami parks, and turns the key. It goes silent, and I’m reminded how loud that damn thing is. You never really notice things like that until they’re absent.

We set to walking towards the house, and I spot Sama huddled over an open hood, doing I couldn’t possibly say what to an engine. I start to wave, but she’s not looking, so I try to pass it off like I was going to scratch behind my ear all along. Asami doesn’t fall for it.

“You two have met?” she asks, teasing.

“Briefly.” We talked about your mother, but I don’t think that’s worth mentioning. “She seemed nice. Almost…”

“Out of place?”

“I wasn’t going to say that, but yeah. Wrong for all… this.”

“She’s a bit vestigial, you might say. The last employee from before. The only one who remembers.”

“She knew my name,” I venture. Asami would know how, of course.

Asami shrugs. “I still speak to her, from time to time. More as a courtesy, than anything else. I may be a lot of things - a lot of them horrible - but I am not without manners.”

“Why only as a courtesy? She made it sound like you were… close. At least once.”

The edge of Asami’s mouth twitches up. Like she has the idea to grin, but rejects it. “She tried to be something of a surrogate mother for me. Looking back, I understand why we both needed it. But I grew out of that need. She had a more difficult time with that transition. She wanted to be my conscience, and I couldn’t abide such things. A conscience is nice enough for a teacher, a doctor, things like that. But for me? In my line of work? No. So I went the other direction for a while, and actively resented her. For some of the things she told me. Some of the ways she tried to hold me back. Of course, she meant well. Or at least, she always said she did. I believe her now. And so I’ve forgiven her. I may not need a conscience, but sometimes I do need someone to discuss the subtleties of a twenty year old Satomobile drivetrain with.”

“Don’t suppose I could hold up an end of that conversation very well.”

Asami laughs. “No, I’d be talking at you, not with you. Still, you seem to learn quickly enough. Maybe once things settle down a bit, I can show you around the underside of a car. Let you earn a little oil on your clothes.”

I find myself smiling, even though that’s not something I’ve ever been the slightest bit interested in. And I don’t know why, all of a sudden, it sounds appealing. Well… maybe I have an idea.

“That’d be nice,” I say. “Don’t figure it’s going to settle down anytime soon though.”

“Maybe. It could be soon. The problem with soon, though, is it’s never now. Always just out of reach.”

She opens the front door - well, a door; I don’t really have any idea which part of this you’d call the front - and we make our way up a flight of stairs, turning, walking, on and on. Asami’s thinking, but not yet giving voice to her thoughts. I’m content just to walk, and try to memorize this route.

Everything become familiar soon enough, and we’re walking down a hallway I know, and a door I recognize as mine. Not that it looks any different, really. Sometimes you can just tell these things. We make our way into the study, and Asami take a seat at the table. I do the same, across from her.

Before either of us can speak, my stomach makes itself known, growling loudly. Asami stifles a laugh, then gives up, and lets it go. I’m laughing too, right along with her.

Asami shakes her head, and sighs. “I’m guessing you haven’t eaten today, have you?”

“Doesn’t sound like I have, does it?”

“No. Sometimes - and this will sound strange, I know - I just forget to eat. It’s not an intentional thing, honestly. Just that, on days like this, I’m so full of ideas and plans and possibilities and a hundred thousand things that I think maybe my mind loses space for it all, and so my stomach has to serve as temporary storage. Like I’m full up, and I just forget to be hungry.”

I just blink at her for several moments. “That does sound strange. Very. I guess that’s something else I can add to my job duties: Make sure Asami remembers not to live on coffee for days at a time.”

Asami lifts a small bell from the table, and rings it.

“You… actually have one of those?”

“Of course we do.” She turns, and there’s a well dressed man in the doorway. The same one, I think, who stared at my pillow.

“Dinner?” he asks.

She nods. “Yes. But preferably something light, and not a great deal of it.”

“You could just grab the leftover noodles,” I say. Forgetting that maybe I’m not supposed to interrupt, and order anything myself. I look to Asami, and if I’ve overstepped, it doesn’t seem to bother her.

She nods, and the man is away.

“Something small, dense, and starchy,” she says. “A useful choice.”

My eyes narrow. “Useful… how?”

“I’m not sure you want to know, honestly. That first motorcycle ride was bad enough, so-”

“Hey, I got over that.”

“You did, but this is worse. By any standard.”

I bury my face in my hands. “If you’re just testing out some new vehicle, you can go ahead and leave me here. Come back and get me when we have to break into Kuvira’s place. That sounds better.”

“Unfortunately for you, this is how we’re breaking into Kuvira’s place. At least, it was the plan I discussed with my father, this morning. He was to spend the day making the necessary preparations. I trust that he’s done so, but I’m going to go ahead and check before I tell you. I need to use the phone in his office anyway. It has a discrete line to some of our people at the station.”

“Wait, you’re still calling to check on my story? I thought-”

“You kissed me, Blue. You didn’t wipe my memory, or destroy any possibility that you could be lying. So yes, I’m going to check. If it makes you feel better, I’ve checked on multiple other things about you as well.”

There’s a burning sensation in my stomach. That really doesn’t make me feel better. Not at all.

“Of course everything has checked out. So far. That whole bit about being a disgraced ex-cop. Funny thing, I’ve heard a couple whispers of bribery, one saying you killed a man, but nobody seems to know for sure what exactly you did. Care to tell me what got you axed, and why it’s so quiet?”

I wonder what all stories Chief has planted about me. Just a bunch of vague nothings, I suppose. Leaving me room to make up whatever I have to, if I have to. At least, that’s what I’m hoping for. If there’s a specific cover story I’m supposed to know… well, I don’t. I figure that’s for the best, though. Specific stories leave lots of details to get wrong. This, though? I can make up whatever I want. A little vague nothing of my own, something you can’t really disprove. So long as it sounds good. Which it better.

I rub the back of my head. “It’s stupid, honestly. If you’re expecting something sexy or dramatic, you’re going to be let down. The whispers about bribery are on the right track. Pretty much exactly. I was bored and I was broke, living in a little one room nothing, doing nothing, every damn day. I wanted to get enough money together to move here, of all places. It looked like the most happening place around. Excitement around every corner, like in the movers. I didn’t really have a plan for what I was going to do, when I got here. But I figured something would turn up. Thing is, it never came to that. One business owner was sliding me cash, so I’d look the other way on his backroom opium running. Turns out he had a mind to be mayor one day, however, and he thought disgracing the mayor’s daughter - you must have found out my father is the mayor, right? - would be a good leg up. So he busted me. My father was able to pull enough strings to ship me out, in the dead of night. Send me off to the city of my dreams, only in a nightmare scenario. With me gone, I imagine he’s set to paying off everybody who knew anything, offering promotions, whatever it takes. Maybe to salvage my reputation, but certainly to salvage his career.”

The words just flow right out of me, from some deep reservoir I can’t name. Lies on lies, but it all feels true, coming out. Sounds true also, I think. Judging by the look on Asami’s face, I think she agrees.

She stands, and pushes her chair in. “Well, what do you think of it?”

“Hmm?”

“Republic City. Now that you’re here, what do you think?”

I sigh, and shake my head. “Honestly? I think it’s all pretty fucked.”

Asami tilts her head. “But you’re smiling.”

I am, as it turns out. Didn’t realize that. “Well... it’s fucked, but so am I. So maybe I fit here, a broken piece for a broken space.” It’s funny, smiling about that. I am fucked. Floating in a forever pool of red, while the only person holding me up is the person I’m supposed to sink. It’s a bitch of a scenario for sure.

Asami walks towards the door, and stops for a moment, standing behind me. She places a hand on my shoulder, and squeezes. “I’m starting to think maybe you do fit here, Blue. Maybe.” She pats my shoulder, and whispers in my ear. “So don’t go anywhere. And don’t eat all the noodles, if they get here before I get back.”

I laugh. “I’ll stay put. Give you a stationary target, in case you come back with a need to shoot me.”

She pulls her hand away slowly, her fingers lingering, then sliding off. “I appreciate the thought, Blue. But I hardly need killing made any easier.”

Those are the words she leaves me to think on. But I don’t pay them much mind, really. Not for long. I know what her phone call is going to yield, and I know she’s going to come back without murderous intent. So truthfully, I’m not worried about that at all.

I’m more concerned with however it is we’re breaking into Kuvira’s place. Never mind why, and forget the fact that she could be there. I’m not as worried about a vicious metalbender as I am the mode of transportation. Worse than the first motorcycle ride? That’s what Asami said. I think back to that first ride, eyes closed, squeezing her in what nearly amounted to a death clutch. But she survived, and so did I. And I did get better, more or less immediately. It’s just that first time that gets you.

I stare at the table, stare at the wall, trying to find anything to distract me from whatever nameless terror Asami has planned for me. I try to let my mind go blank then, to think about nothing at all.

I guess it works, because when there’s a knock on the door, I feel myself jarred out of my reverie, brought back to a world of lights and shapes and… noodles, being brought in, and set on the table. They’re no longer in the styrofoam container, but moved to a larger porcelain bowl. There are two smaller matching bowls to go with it. The man simply nods, and leaves without a word.

“Thanks,” I say. But I’m not sure the word can catch up with him.

I ladle a bowl for myself, then do the same for Asami. It’s all steaming hot, and it’ll cool off quicker for her if it’s in a smaller vessel. And I’m a bodyguard, after all. Have to protect Asami’s tongue. I feel myself almost blushing, even though there’s no one around. I guess I might want to protect her tongue for other more selfish reasons too.

I just stare at my bowl, watching the steam rise. It makes a pretty poor clock, but I can tell some time is passing, as it starts to lessen. I bend the broth around in both of our bowls, cooling it down, and trying to make sure all the seasoning stays evenly distributed. It should be emulsified, but it’s better to be sure.

I hear footsteps, and recognize the cadence as Asami’s. Even though I know better, there’s a slight lump in my throat. I guess I could bend the broth at her, if she tried to shoot me. Seems a little futile, though. And I don’t expect any violence on her part. Even if I did, I’m not sure I’d want to scar her face. Self preservation is one thing, but that would just seem obscene.

“Congratulations, Blue, you get to live another day,” Asami says, walking by, swiping a hand across my shoulder again. It occurs to me that she touches my shoulders a lot. I don't mind at all.

She takes back the seat across from me. “Happy to be alive, I see.”

“Huh?” Oh, I'm smiling. “Sure. One day’s plenty anyway, though the way you were talking earlier, I’m not so sure I want whatever tonight is going to bring.”

Asami starts slurping up her noodles, and I take that as my cue to do the same. “The noodles will help, though,” she says in between bites.

I just raise an eyebrow, because my mouth is busy.

“A little bit of light starch tends to soak up liquid in the stomach. Makes you a little less likely to vomit, and decreases the volume if you do.”

I stop, mid noodle. “That’s… not the most appetizing dinner conversation.”

Asami shrugs. “You asked.”

“And why do you expect that I might… you know.”

“Well, we’re going to rappel down from an airship, which will be momentarily hovering about a hundred feet above the Republic City Regent. Kuvira’s got the penthouse suite, you see. Which means she has a rooftop balcony. Or more accurately, the entire rooftop basically is her balcony.”

Noodles or no, I feel sick already. “Asami… what the fuck?”

She just laughs. “Blue, do you know what tomorrow is?”

“I honestly have no idea.”

“Tomorrow is the Nian Festival, which you more likely know as the Earth Kingdom New Year. Or maybe the Lunar Festival. Different names, but the same thing.”

“Ok?”

“So, the city hires Future Industries airships every year for this night. We fly roughly along the parade route, dangling lanterns, banners, balloons, ribbons, et cetera. All sorts of things. Well, it just so happens that the Regent is right along this route. And a certain pilot - namely, yours truly - might get a little clumsy and get a banner caught on the roof. It is the tallest building for several kilometers. Mistakes happen. But a team will have to rappel down from this ship, get everything untangled, then rappel right back up. You follow?”

“I’d really rather not… but yes, I do. Everyone on that airship will be in your employee. Shit, maybe everyone in the fleet. While they fix it, we run inside, and steal… whatever we’re stealing. Which… what are we stealing? And how? Surely she has a safe? Probably just metalbent shut, so even if you were the best safe cracker in the world, how would we break in?”

“Well, I’ll answer that last question first. Metalbenders are very rare, you know. Even by bending standards. It’s a new discipline, and so on. We don’t even have one metalbender in our employee, strictly speaking… but we do have one on our payroll. One of our most valuable assets, honestly. A senior police officer, who has worked for my father since the original Agni Kai case.”

“And we’re bringing him?”

“We are, yes. It’s a slight risk, but worth it.”

“And why is that?”

“First of all, because my father says it is. This whole thing is his idea; it’s only the execution that’s up to me. You remember the bullet that Kuvira recovered from Suyin’s neck? Well, it could… implicate us.”

I feel suddenly very cold. “So… he did shoot her?”

Asami waves the question away. “No. One of his men did though. A young man trying to overachieve shot her. Now that, in and of itself, wouldn’t be so bad. A bullet is a bullet. Hard to link to any one person. Or even a group. But this young man had been testing hollow point prototypes earlier in the day, and somehow managed to bring a clip with him. We’re not sure how or why, but it’s done. So the bullet Kuvira recovered - and still has - is a Future Industries prototype. It can’t be tied to any one person; but it can very much be tied to us. And that’s a problem. The only saving grace we’ve had so far is that Kuvira’s new to town. She doesn’t yet know which police officers to trust, so she’s scouting, looking for someone she thinks isn’t on our payroll. When she finds them, she’ll turn it in as evidence. We need to get it before she does, and tonight is the best opportunity we’ll get. Not only does the parade provide us an easy rooftop entrance, but she’s going to be out on the town. She and her fiance have reservations at a dinner party, which is serving a twenty-plate tasting menu over the course of two hours, starting at nine. The parade starts at ten. We should hit the Regent fifteen minutes later, and the theft itself can’t take longer than ten minutes. We’ll be long gone before she gets back, and nothing will be any different at all. Well, except for one missing bullet.”

“Still, you have to know she’ll suspect you. If it’s Sato airships…”

“She can suspect all she wants. She won’t be able to prove anything. And what’s she going to say? ‘Officer, they stole evidence I was withholding.’ No, she’ll be angry, but no more so than she usually appears to be, from what I've seen of her.”

I bite my lip, and glance at the table? “You don’t worry?”

“About her?”

I nod.

Asami opens her mouth, and I see her lips begin to form ‘no’, but she doesn’t say it. She exhales, then smirks. “These are the ‘implications’ from earlier, right? You’re thinking maybe Kuvira is the ‘she’ we’re looking for, the one who set the Agni Kai on our trail. Can’t say that hasn’t occurred to me. And it seems… if not outright likely, at least possible. We know those guns were ordered by her family. And we’ve seen that, for reasons I can’t quite guess, she doesn’t seem too fond of me. But still. She couldn’t have known about that place. There’s no way. And as violent as her reputation might be, I don’t think she’s stupid. Open war isn’t good for either family. She has to know that.”

I swallow. “There was another thing… from earlier. I should’ve mentioned it, but I didn’t. When I was interrogating that guy at Sharks, he mentioned something about other kinds of warfare. The Agni Kai ambush… I think that would qualify.”

“Still, there’s no way-”

“You can’t say that there’s no way, Asami. Just because you don’t know of it doesn’t mean it can’t exist.”

Asami grinds her teeth for a moment. “You know, Blue, nobody talks to me like that. You’re getting some nerve.”

I shrug. “My job is to protect you, and to help you. Bullshitting you does neither.”

Asami inhales deeply, then laughs softly. “You’re right, you know. About all of that.” She shakes her head, and sighs. “Oh well. We’ll have access to her safe, if only briefly. If we see anything that might be related to the Agni Kai… the guns… or shit, even that stone, we’ll grab it. Or anything else that seems particularly interesting, or useful.”

“And if we don’t find anything like that?”

“Then we’ll talk to her. Whatever issue she may have with me, I really don’t care. She can hum any song she wants. Doesn’t matter. We’re both professionals with business interests. There’s no reason we can’t handle things like it.”

“You think talking to her, right after what we’re planning on doing tonight, is the best idea?”

“I do, actually. Because we’re not just taking the bullet; we’re initiating a trade.”

“We get the bullet, and she gets?”

“The man who fired it.”

“Asami… that’s-”

“That’s how justice works. Or how it would, if it made a damn bit of sense. You hurt someone’s family, they hurt you. We don’t need to involve the police in this. Somehow I don’t think she’ll really mind. If what they write about her is true, then she may even respect the gesture.”

“How do you know this man even fired the bullet, Asami? I mean, your father could be lying, he could be-”

“I don’t give a shit.” Asami’s standing now, her face red. “I don’t care about the truth, Blue. I care about my family. And he’s it. If someone has to die to protect him, then they die. If a hundred people have to die, then they’re all getting offed. I don’t care.”

I put my palms up, trying to appear calm, and brave, although I feel neither. “Asami… I’m not saying he’s lying. And I’m not saying you’re wrong. But… if the whole point of this is to appease Kuvira… you know she’ll suspect something is off about this.”

Asami slows her breathing, gradually, and the color drains from her face. She sits, and adjusts her hair. “My father isn’t an idiot. And that was an idiot’s shot. He wanted that peace, and still holds out hope that we can achieve it. I’m going to try.” She swallows, and it’s like all of that rage is vanished. But I know better. You see a thing like that go beneath the surface, and you know it’s still there, only hiding. “We’ll know when we see the bullet. That’s the biggest thing. It being a hollow point, it must have deformed more than Kuvira would’ve been expecting. My father did have a .22, like she said, but the bullet she recovered is actually a 9 millimeter. At least, it is if my father’s right.”

I stare at the broth in my bowl, or what’s left of it. I don’t ask what we do if he’s wrong, or if he’s lying. I don’t ask, because I know already. We cover it up, and send someone else to their death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I'm saying this a lot lately, but this is my new longest chapter. For one thing, I won't be posting tomorrow night. For another, I really feel like this all needs to be one thing. Get through the talking, so we can get to the actual heist business next chapter. Then more angsty talking. 
> 
> Also, yes, I'm using the Chinese New Year as a plot device because it's happening right now in real life. I saw it on the news, and thought, 'That's how we're going to do this'. Hooray for planning your chapters ahead of time. (Or, you know, making them up while watching the news on a treadmill.)


	36. Chapter 36

There’s space behind the Sato Estate - or I guess, behind the house itself; all the land is the estate too - that seems to go on forever. For all practical purposes, it does. It goes on long enough to house that massive garage I saw Asami taking the gun apart in earlier, which was big enough to double as an airplane hanger. There’s a racetrack too, it looks like, and I’m a little worried about that. I’m thinking maybe Asami will decide we need to test drive this thing or that thing and that she’ll want me to ride along… and, well, I’m not sure I want much anything to do with all of that. But then again I’m not sure that I don’t.

All I’m sure of right now is that I’m nervous. And I don’t think it matters one bit that I had noodles a little while ago, because the only thing I’m feeling in my stomach right now are butterflies. And that saying never made any sense to me anyway, because really, who eats those? But that’s kind of beside the point, I guess. The point is that Asami and I - and it seems like a few hundred other people - are milling about in generic brown jumpsuits, with flight caps and goggles. All about us are something like forty airships. At least that’s how many Asami said there are, and I don’t know, because they’re massive and I can’t count them all at once. 

I’d be excited to take this ride if I were going to spend the whole time in the airship itself. But the idea of dangling out of a perfectly safe vessel, one hundred feet above something that’s already several hundred feet above the ground isn’t exactly the most comforting. It’s not that I’m afraid of heights, because I’m not. It’s the falling that worries me. Or, more accurately, that fraction of a moment when the falling stops, and you hit the ground. I wonder if you feel it. Maybe your body shuts everything down, and it’s all just numb. Or maybe you feel every bone break and organ splatter and it’s all of the pain in the universe, concentrated into the blink of an eye. 

I remember a few years back, when I had a really bad case of the flue. I remember waking up in the middle of the night, and stumbling into the bathroom. I was freezing and dizzy and I thought I was about to vomit. I didn’t do that but I did lose my balance and collapse to the floor. Because I didn’t just lose my balance; I lost control of everything. I lay there for probably five minutes, barely feeling the cold tile, wondering if this was death, or something approaching it. I could blink and I could breath, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t cry out, and even if I could have, no one could have heard. So I just did nothing. After a minute or so it all started to feel silly. I noticed a little streak of red trickling across the floor, and figured I must have cut my head. I remember staring at the little stream of blood and wishing it would reverse course. But blood just flows on, always.

Asami takes my arm and starts leading me towards what I assume is our airship. 

“You all right, Blue? Don’t look so good.”

I try to smile, but it doesn’t really work. “Kind of answered that question yourself, didn’t you?”

She shrugs. “Appearances only tell you so much. And sometimes what they tell you isn’t worth a damn anyway.”

“Well right now, I’m a book you can judge by its cover. Plain as anything.”

She laughs a little, as we step through the door and into the ship. “We’re going to be latched in. Metal hooks, metal cables, which I’ll lower by control. Completely safe. Just don’t look down.”

“Wasn’t planning on it. I am a little curious, though. Why do you need me to go down at all? Seems like a job you can handle without me.”

“I probably could. But you never know. Kuvira doesn’t strike me as the sort to like having a lot of security around, on a day to day basis. But when she knows she’s going to be out for a while? Maybe. It’s at least possible. Granted, any security that is there will hopefully buy what we’re selling, right up until we take care of them. If it comes to that, I’d feel better if you’re around.”

I cock my head, thinking about scenarios, wondering why I specifically might be of use. “A fancy penthouse suite with the whole roof to itself might have a swimming pool. I’m guessing this one does?”

The corner of Asami’s lip rises. “It does. And that’s especially valuable, since I’d prefer a method that doesn’t kill anyone. Kuvira won’t call the police to investigate the theft of withheld evidence, but I bet she’d report killings. Plus… well, it never hurts to have someone watching your back specifically. Everyone else will be there to do a job. And so will you, of course. Because I am your job.”

I laugh, and elbow her in the ribs. “So I’m supposed to do you?”

Asami rolls her eyes and groans. “That wasn’t the most clear phrasing, was it?”

“Well, depends what you were trying to say. Seems pretty clear to me.”

“Blue, I have to fly an airship, get a fifty foot long banner caught on the roof of a building just right, then get the ship stopped and stationary before the cables rip apart the entire thing, then, well you know the rest. Busy night for me.”

I hadn’t thought about the entire airship being torn to pieces. I figure the banner can probably detach, but the plan wouldn’t really work if it did. I also figure I might seem less worried - and maybe feel less worried too - if I just go back to my teasing. “So... no distractions?”

Asami elbows me back. “Not for now, at least. We’ll have plenty of time for that later.”

It’s a silly little thing to notice a word like ‘later’, and to make something out of it. But my mind starts doing just that, and all of a sudden I’m not too worried about going splat on the Republic City sidewalks, because if there’s a ‘later’ for that, then there’s a ‘later’ for both of us. That means I’m not dying and neither is Asami. And I know that ‘later’ is more than a second in the future, no matter what she said earlier about not looking ahead. It’s a silly little thing to notice, and even sillier to take comfort in. But right now, it’s working, and I’m not arguing.

\-----

I don’t know when exactly I stopped worrying about rappelling, and just started enjoying the flight. But looking down at the city lights, I can’t do anything else. The parade is a bright line snaking between buildings, like it’s a sentient thing navigating a maze it already knows the solution to. We’re way up, and so I can’t really hear the drums or the people, but even looking down, I can almost sense all of it. 

Not that we didn’t have parades and festivals back home. But nothing like this. When I dreamed of coming to Republic City, it was so I could be a part of big things. And this is as big a thing as I’ve ever seen. Thousands of people in the street, and thousands more lining it. There are fireworks off in the distance, and it’s like we’re looking straight at them. It’s an interesting perspective. So interesting that I don’t even stop to thank the city officials for keeping the fireworks so far away from the airship route. 

Asami is driving. Or flying, or piloting, or I don’t know exactly what you’d say. But she’s at the wheel, in any case. In control. Of the ship, and it looks like, her whole world. There’s a look of sublime satisfaction I haven’t seen her wear often. It’s not the same look she gets when killing, or manipulating people, or doing any of the things that put the ‘Fucking’ in between Asami and Sato. She’s good at those things, but her face while she’s doing them is that of a person at work. This look is different. And although I don’t see it often, I think she wears it really well.

Noticing that, I also notice when it changes. When her face shifts, her eyes harden, and her jaw clenches. She’s maneuvering now, her hand tight on the wheel. There are levers and all manner of other things, and she manipulates them as easily as I’d use chopsticks. It’s the easiest thing in the world once you know how. But I get the feeling learning involves a lot of awkward bumbling. 

Asami looks at me, and nods. “Almost there, Blue.”

I swallow and I can’t say I’m really enjoying the flight anymore. I look down, down, and we’re almost right over a particularly tall building. I see something that looks like water, and that must be it. I see our banner, green with Old Earth Kingdom script I can’t read, and I see it catch. I hold my breath, and silently count out the moments. 

The lurch doesn’t come. When I open my eyes - when did I close them? - we’re facing the other direction, and Asami is grabbing my arm. I notice beads of sweat on her forehead, and I wonder if I should have been even more worried than I was. 

There’s not time for that, though. Not time for anything because we’re now standing in a room with ten other people. Asami fastens a metal hook attached to a metal cable to a harness, and straps me in. She tugs in several different directions, and is apparently satisfied, because she gives me a quick kiss on the cheek before she goes to check on everyone else. She’s the last to strap in.

“Goggles,” she shouts. 

I slide mine over my eyes. They’re dark but I wish they were blacked out totally.

“Door,” she says. 

One side of the room cracks open, then swings down. 

“To the edge.” 

And we all walk to the edge, our cables are taught, and our feet are braced. We lean back.

I don’t look down. Not for a moment. I look at Asami and see that she has a separate, smaller cable, at the end of which is a small metal box. There’s a switch and a dial. She flips the switch down, and then turns the dial the smallest amount possible. I feel my cable shiver to life. 

“When I say go, you jump back. The cable will give, but only just. You shouldn’t fall more than five feet, and there’s still a little friction, so it shouldn’t be jarring. So you should glide, more than fall. Say something now if you’re not ready.”

I want more than anything for someone to say something, but nobody does, and I’m not going to be the one.

“Go.”

I go. Before I can think about it my feet push away, and it’s really not so bad, falling for that fraction of a second. Falling is the easiest thing in the world. The cable does give just the right amount, and we all glide down. No swinging, no snapping, no nothing. We’re all spaced out just enough, so that even if we did swing, I don’t think we’d hit one another. I don’t think that spacing is an accident. 

Still, I don’t look down. Just up, at the ship, then over, to the sky. It goes on for too long though, so I find Asami. I watch as she twists the dial, and the cables begin to lower us down, down. I watch her the entire way, because while falling is the easiest thing, we’re not really falling. We’re being guided down, and it’s like she’s driving. She didn’t wreck the bike, and she’s not going to wreck us now. I just stare at her hand, until I see her twisting the dial back the other way, slowly, until it’s all the way back to where it began. 

I let my feet down and notice that they find purchase on solid ground. I’ve always heard that earthbenders feel a special kind of ecstasy, when getting off of boats and setting foot on land. If that’s true, I imagine this is basically what they feel. I hear someone laughing, and it takes me a moment to recognize that it’s my voice. 

It only takes Asami that long to detach from her harness, and unhook herself. Everyone else is doing the same, I notice, and so I set to fumbling with sets of buckles that seem utterly baffling. Maybe I could manage it if I’d strapped myself in, but Asami did that for me. So I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s here, now, getting me out as quickly and easily. This time, I try to pay attention.

“Company,” she whispers.

I turn to look, and there are four men approaching us, looking pretty pissed off, and carrying machine guns. Somehow I’m more comfortable with this than the whole rappelling business. 

A man I don’t recognize steps forward from our group, and I figure that’s probably for the best. Asami didn’t bother with a disguise. And even with her hair bunched under a cap, and goggles over her eyes… well, they might recognize her. And even if Kuvira figures this is all our doing, it’s probably best if she doesn’t know it for sure. 

The guards are shouting something about how this is bullshit, how could we be so stupid, and we’d better get this all figured out and towed away before Kuvira gets back, or it’ll be our heads. There’s a lot of hand waving at the various places the banner seems caught, and after a few moments of that, all of our brown suited people disperse and start messing with those various spots. 

Our man pretending to be in charge glances back at Asami, and she nods, I think towards the swimming pool. They’re all standing close by. She leans in, until her lips are right up against my ear. “Can you push them in?”

“I can, but-”

“Just do it, ok?”

“Ok.”

Asami pushes her hand into one of her pockets, and starts fidgeting around. When she pulls it out, it’s sheathed in a bulky looking glove, with a few nodes and wires and… stuff, attached to it. I look at it quizzically, and she just waves towards the pool. 

We start walking over there, and the guards have their backs turned, talking to our man. They’re watching our other people set to work, idly pointing their guns around. 

“Just pull some water over the edge,” Asami whispers. “As subtly as you can, until they’re standing in a puddle. Keep our man out of it. And then… push. If possible, I’d rather they not know you used waterbending.”

I nod. It’s easy, coaxing just that amount of water into position. Just letting it flow, slowly but surely, until their feet are standing in a little pool of their own. Looking around, watching the work with the banner, the guards don’t seem to notice. Our man is taking steps, every so often, closer and closer to the pool. Asami gives me a little tap on the back, and I take the hint. 

The water explodes up, punching all four guards in back, knocking each of them into the pool. I even tried to make a little hand out of the water, or something like that shape. Maybe they’ll guess right anyway, but maybe not. Maybe Kuvira will be too pissed to listen to anything they say. 

The moment they hit the water, Asami explodes into motion. I notice the power she generates, and the grace with which she executes the movement. I think about Yasuko, the dancer. Then I think that I’m going to have to spar with Asami, and she’s going to kick me with those legs. Asami’s not kicking now, though. She just kneels by the side of the pool, and before any of the guards surface, she inserts her gloved hand. 

There’s sizzle and steam and a loud pop and I throw my hands over my eyes, forgetting that I’m wearing goggles. It only lasts a moment, but it’s a moment of pure violence, chaos. Like a lightening strike. I look, peaking, and several men are fishing the floating bodies of Kuvira’s guards out of the pool. Asami is taking the glove off, and shoving it back in her pocket.

She walks towards me, puts a hand on my shoulder, and guides me to the door. She whistles loudly, and gestures at a man who is presently fiddling with the banner on the other side of the roof. He notices her waving him over, and jogs towards the door to meet us.

“I thought we weren’t killing anyone,” I say before he arrives.

“We didn’t. At least. I don’t expect so. A lot of sound and fury, but really not a very strong charge at all. I saw to that.”

“And what was that, exactly?”

“Just a little something I’ve had around. Don’t really get to use it much, and figured it might come in handy.”

I pause. “Was that-”

“No, that wasn’t a pun. Give me a little more credit than that, please.”

“If you say so, boss.”

“I do.”

The man - bald, I notice, without his cap - arrives at the door as we do. It’s glass, and the wall here is glass. It would be the easiest thing to kick in, because I’m guessing they don’t get many rooftop intruders in these parts. Asami’s got something more subtle in mind, however. She pulls off her cap, and whips her hair about. I’m transfixed for a moment, before I remind myself that this is work, and I shouldn’t get distracted. Still, if I’m not going to get distracted, she really needs to stop doing that. When I come back to the rooftop, back to work, Asami has pulled something out of her hair, and is fidgeting with the lock. Something pops, and then the door cracks open. She smiles, and nudges it ajar.

The three of us walk into the room, or rather, the rooms. Because this isn’t a room, it’s an entire floor Kuvira has to herself. I can tell, because Asami has produced a map, somehow, and she’s tracing her finger around on it. 

“This way,” she says. 

And we’re walking. For a luxurious place, it all seems a bit lackluster. Probably because there are boxes everywhere. I’m reminded that Kuvira’s new to town, that she’s probably just moving all of her things from… wherever she was last. Ba Sing Se, I think I recall. It’s hard, as we walk, not to rummage through all of this. And it’s hard to imagine Kuvira as a domestic creature, a real person who has clothes, books, and has to move them. I’ve basically only seen her as snarling violence personified, and so it’s hard to imagine her fussing over where this clock should go, or whether that painting is level. 

It’s even hard to imagine her as human enough to require sleep, but I guess she does, and we’re standing in her bedroom now. It’s a little more organized than the rest of the place, but not by much. Still, we’re not looking for anything in the boxes, or anything laying out in the open. At least, not anything we expect to be in those places. We’re looking for a safe, and we’ve found it.

It is - as we guessed - metalbent so that there’s nothing to open. It looks like a flat piece of metal, inserted into the wall. But I know better, or at least I think I do. Asami certainly does, because she’s got a map, which I now realize is actually a floorplan for this place. I wonder if she just got this, or has had it forever, just in case. 

“You’re up,” she says to the man, gesturing to the safe. 

He nods, and rubs his bald head. Inhaling, he takes a fighter’s stance, clenches his hands, then spreads them apart violently. Like he’s tearing a thick stack of papers. The metal pulls away just as easily, and there it is. Or there we hope it is, or this was all a big waste of time. 

Asami’s looking, diving right in. I can barely see over her shoulder, which is fine enough. I do notice a folder though, because she pulls it up to eye level. Written on the tab is ‘Asami Sato’, over what appears to be whiteout. 

“Huh,” Asami says. “Let’s see what she has on me.” She opens the folder, and pulls out a single white envelope. There’s nothing else there. “That’s… almost a little insulting. I’m not worth more research than that?”

“Everyone’s already heard about you anyway,” I say. “She did say she knew a lot about you already, back when we first met her.”

Asami sighs. “I suppose you’re right. Still. Take this for me, will you? We can look at it later, when we have time to do so.” She hands me the envelope, and I slide it into one of my waist pockets. This suit has a million, and they’re all pretty big. I make a note which one I used, so we can actually look at it later.

Asami goes back to digging. I’m rubbing my fingers against each other, bouncing on my toes, and trying to find a clock to glance at. I find one on a stand by the bed. Hit the Regent at ten fifteen, if everything was on schedule… figure a couple minutes to get down… and of course we’ll need a couple more to get back up.... Kuvira’s dinner finishes at eleven… right now, it’s ten twenty four…

“Got it!”

Asami sounds excited, and she looks excited, holding up a warped little fragment of metal. Funny how such a little thing can have such massive implications. But then I’m not laughing, because I just want to get out of here. I know we’ve got time, but I don’t want to find out how much, exactly. 

Asami takes a step back, and gestures towards the safe. The man makes his gestures again, this time in reverse, and everything looks like it’s back the way it was. Asami runs her hand across the metal, looking at it intently. She nods, and I guess she agrees that it looks the same too. 

Asami turns, flashing me a grin. “The ride back up won’t be nearly as bad.”

“At this point, I really don’t care. It could be the most nauseating thing in the world, and I’d love it, so long as it gets me away from this place.”

“Fair enough, Blue.” Asami slides the bullet into one of her pockets, and zips it up. “Let’s go.”

And we do, wasting no time at all. We’re jogging, retracing our steps from earlier. I don’t stop to notice if I recognize the route, this box or that box. I think maybe my feet just know, and they’re pushing me ahead no matter what my mind thinks. Just stick beside Asami. She knows. 

We’re sprinting now, or nearly so, hopping over and around boxes, then quickly exiting the door. Asami shuts it, and it clicks back into place. She glances at Kuvira’s guards, and raises a hand. A man standing near them gives a thumbs up in return, and she nods, smiling. I assume that means they’re still alive, but we don’t go check. 

Instead, we make our way to the side of the building. Or Asami does. I don’t really feel the need to stand right against the edge, and look down at the banner. I assume it’s unfurled there, unhooked and as unharried as can be, because Asami puts a finger in the air, twirls it once, and whistles. 

“Let’s go.”

Everyone is only too happy to oblige. There’s the sound of boots, then heavy breathing. Then there’s a symphony of clicks, pops, zips, the buckles and the harnesses singing out their hurried song. Asami’s not hurrying though. At least, not so much that she doesn’t have time to go around and check everyone, and see if they’re in safe. 

She tugs on my harness. “Got yourself, this time?”

I nod, and give her a shove. It’s a little more forceful than I mean it to be. “I’m fine. Now go.”

She smirks. “You know we’ve probably got a few more hours, right? Realistically-”

“Go, Asami.”

“Fine, fine. I am your boss, though. Don’t-”

“Asami!”

She just laughs, flips her hair, and tucks it back under her cap. Either she’s not worried, or she’s a damn fine actress. Well, I know she’s the latter. But I suspect the former is true also, in this particular case.

She gets herself in as easy as you’d tie a shoe, grabs the controller, and flips the switch up. She turns the dial, and we’re soaring into the night sky. I look to my left, and the fireworks are still going. I actually look down, right at the street. So many people, so many lights. So much everything. I think I can hear the drums, from all the way up here. It’s a damn strange thing. Damn pretty too. About as pretty a thing as I’ve ever seen. Like the world has been flipped over, and I’m looking down at the stars. 

“Grab the lip,” says Asami.

I shake my head, and notice we’re right under the ship. The wall is folded down underneath, and the floor is hanging right in front of us. I grab, as I’m told. And pull myself up, like everyone else. The view was something else, but as I lay against the floor, I almost want to hug it. And as the wall flips up, forward, and shut, I’m not complaining. I begin unhooking, unclasping, untying, all of it. Tearing the harness away from me, until I’m sprawled out on the floor, limbs going every which way.

“Blue?” Asami’s standing right over me, one eyebrow raised. “You think you’re back home, making snow angels?”

I laugh. “Wouldn’t mind.”

She extends her hand, and pulls me to my feet. She doesn’t let go, as we walk together towards the wheel. Not until we arrive there, at least. She relinquishes her hold then, and I figure that’s fair enough. I’d rather she use both hands to steer, right now. I take a step to the right, standing beside her, looking out the windows at the city lights, the fireworks, the night sky. 

“Not a bad night’s work,” I say.

“Not bad at all,” she says. “Of course, we’re not done quite yet. There’s a conversation that needs to be had-” She lowers her voice to a whisper “with our metalbending friend. Then I’ve got a bullet that needs to be looked at. It is a 9 millimeter, by the way. But there’s still a couple curious things about it, and-”

“Couldn’t we just go to bed?” 

“Hmm? Well, I suppose it is getting a little late, and this has been a very full day. The conversation can’t wait until tomorrow, unfortunately, but the bullet can.”

“And the envelope?”

She shrugs. “That? Let’s just wait until we get home. Not much there, but the looks of it. Should be quick. Could be interesting, could be nothing. If it’s the former, I’d rather not examine it while piloting an airship. I don’t think you’ll fault me for that, will you?”

“I most certainly will not.”

She smiles, and stares out the window, looking at the explosions of color, then their absence. I let my eyes linger a moment longer on her, then a moment beyond a moment. There’s that look of sublime satisfaction on her face, the same one from before. I still think it suits her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's in the envelope, you guys? 
> 
> I mean, probably nothing important. But still...


	37. Chapter 37

Seeing all the airships come down in the field is like watching a flock of overstuffed giant birds land to fill themselves further, while migrating this way or that. It occurs to me that here, in and around Republic City, those patterns must be the opposite of what I’m used to seeing. But even still, it’s an awe inspiring sight. Majestic. And a little nerve wracking, even though I’m quite confident Asami isn’t going to crash into any of the other ships, or nosedive, or any of the other various things that could end in our providing fertilizer for the Sato Estate grass. It’s already unseasonably green so I figure it doesn’t need it. 

Asami’s not sweating this, not like she did with the banner, the Regent’s roof, all of that. That was a once in a lifetime maneuver, the sort of thing you can’t really practice. This, though, you can practice. And I’m assuming Asami has. A hundred times, or maybe a thousand. Because while her body goes through the motions of docking us up against the little wooden platform, her eyes are looking elsewhere, and I imagine she’s thinking about anything else. 

Maybe the envelope. Maybe the bullet. Maybe the conversation we need to have with the metalbending cop. Maybe all of those things at once, or none of them. Keeping the mind going in one specific direction is tricky enough for me - for everyone, I think - but I can’t imagine what it must be like for Asami, or people like her. She told me her mind sometimes got so full of ideas that it felt as if they were spilling into her stomach, using every bit of empty space for temporary storage. There are ways in which that sort of thinking must be useful, but it sounds to me like it could be pretty miserable most of the time. Like rain, maybe. You need it sometimes, but it’s really only pleasant in the right amounts. Too much, and for too long, and everything starts to get dreary, muddy, and wash away. But then again, maybe she’s just used to it. Some people would say having snow around for most of the year must get old, but it never did to me. 

There’s a little creaking and groaning and shivering as the airship stops, and locks into place. I’m reminded of docking in Republic City. Feels like that must’ve been a life time ago, and I guess it depends how you define a life. My old one is gone, maybe for good, and this is something completely different. So whether it was a hundred years ago or a week ago maybe doesn’t matter all that much, maybe doesn’t even matter at all. 

I glance at Asami and find myself wondering - I think for the first time - what she thinks of all of this. Of her life. I know I feel about like the tiniest boat, being cast about by an infinite sea. Like I didn’t really choose any of this, and yet here I am. Past is prologue though, right? That’s what she always says. Makes it sound like she never really had a choice either. And I can see how it might feel that way. At six years old, your life really hasn’t even started yet. And all of a sudden, hers ended. Or changed, at least. I remember her saying something about how the Agni Kai killed her mother, so she killed them. Like it couldn’t have been any other way. You drop a rock in a pond, and ripples just go. They don’t choose where they go, they just go. They just flow on, and maybe that’s all any of us can do, really.

“You ready?” Asami, apparently done landing this thing.

“Hmm? Oh, right. I think I’ve been ready to get off this thing for a while now. I mean, the view was something, but-” I yawn. “Well, I think that says it all.”

Asami laughs. “It says enough, that’s for sure. Now come on. The last little bit of work for the night shouldn’t require you to do anything. Still, he’s a metalbender, so you never know. Things could get-”

“Wait, Asami… I thought we were just having a conversation? Just talking?”

“Well, talking is never just talking, is it? Words represent things, and sometimes they bring those things right along with them. These are going to be violent words, and maybe violence itself will come along for the ride. I don’t think so, and I hope not. But you never know, so you have to be ready. That’s all I’m saying.”

“But I thought you said he’s been with your family for twenty years? With that kind of loyalty… I mean...”

“Loyalty’s not something you put in a bank, Blue. You can’t let it sit for twenty years, or any amount of time, and gather interest. You have to keep making payments. So while you’re right, it doesn’t really matter. He fucked us, then he fucked up. And no matter how loyal you’ve been in the past… well, let’s just say my family always comes to collect.”

I swallow, and feel suddenly a little cold, then a little warm. If twenty years of loyal service can get tossed right out the window, I don’t figure a week would really buy me much. “But we’re not…”

“Killing him? No. At least, I hope not. I’ll do it if it comes to that, of course. But his mistake, if anything, has made him even more useful to us. And as you know, I don’t kill useful people.”

I know she’s said that before, but I don’t know how true it is. Still, I tell myself that I must be useful. “That’s... something. What did he do?”

“Not really time for that. You’ll be present for our talk, in any case, so I imagine you’ll get your answer there. If not, I can tell you more.” She smiles. “Or we can just go to bed.”

I’m reminded of the controller Asami used to lower us from the airship, then raise us back up. There was a switch there, and I think I must have one too, because she can flip it as easy as anything. Take the warmth of my creeping anxiety and replace with a warmth of… another variety. Just like that. I wonder if she even knows she’s doing it, and figure it’s at least worth something that I recognize her ability. 

Of course, my whole presence here is one big lie, one giant piece of manipulation. So maybe she’s got a switch too, and maybe I’ve got my finger on it. I could almost feel bad about it, but I don’t think I’ve done any harm yet. So there’s really nothing to feel bad about. 

Asami puts her hand on my shoulder and guides me out of the ship, down a wooden ramp, and we’re walking with the rest of our ship’s crew across the dewy grass. It’s wet, and I remember that night at the shootout. The grass felt like this then, but it was wet with something heavier and darker. Of course, we could add a little of that here, tonight. 

We’re walking in the general direction of the house, and all the other crews seem to be going the other way. I figure they’re parked in another garage, or by the racetrack, or who knows where. Doesn’t much matter, except that it means our little group is alone now. I know that matters a lot, and so does everyone here but the bald metalbending cop. He seems oblivious, just walking right along.

Right up until Asami kicks behind his left knee. I hear a faint pop, and I think maybe a tendon just snapped. He cries out, and there’s both pain and shock there. Hard to tell exactly how bad he’s hurt, but he’s not done hurting anyway. Asami drives him facedown into the grass, puts a knee in his back, and pulls both his arms behind him. He wobbles back and forth, like a downed turtle, while she ties his hands with rope. I guess cuffing a metalbender wouldn’t do much good. 

She takes a step back, and produces her platinum gun, aims it right at his head. All the other men have guns drawn now too, pointing at the same place. The man groans, and manages to draw himself up into a sitting position. The shock of what happened washes away, and is replaced by the shock of what is happening now. Like a man looking at his own death and wondering how he never saw it coming. He opens his mouth, probably to ask why, or to protest, but Asami just puts up a hand, and he says nothing.

“Saikhan. Do you know why this is happening?”

He glares, and clenches his jaw. “Maybe you’re trying to steal power away from your father? And you know how loyal I’ve always been to him, so you’re trying to take me out. Well, if that’s the case, killing me would be a massive waste. I know a lot of things. A lot of heavy, damning things. I could tell you, or I could show you-”

I remember watching Asami leap towards the pool, and thinking her legs could probably do some damage. I don’t have to wonder about that anymore. She silences him with a rapid spin of her leg, driving her boot into his stomach. He crumples to the ground, and spits.

“Fuck, Asami-”

“Stop. Don’t even insinuate that I’d betray my father. And don’t try to bribe me. I know you know things. Twenty years will do that. But twenty years could also do other things. Maybe make you arrogant. Make you think you matter far, far more than you do. Make you think you should matter even more than that. Which is where you got in trouble. You-”

“I didn’t do anything!”

Asami sighs. “Maybe you forget my father’s connections. Tell me, where was that meeting between my family and Beifongs held?”

“Mayor Raiko’s house. But you already knew I had that information. I had to know. I kept police away for the night. That was the job your father gave me.”

“Well, he certainly didn’t tell you to tip off the Triads. But you did anyway.”

A silence as deep and dark as the night sky descends on us. For a moment, then another, then another, everyone just stands. 

“Bullshit. Why would I-”

“You saw Mayor Raiko’s house. His palace. That’s a lucrative position, in this city. It pays well to look the other way on certain things. Could pay a lot better too, now that this city has a second titan.”

“Asami, I don’t-”

“Of course, Raiko’s approval numbers were looking pretty strong. So strong that no one was really even going to bother running against him. But now that there was a syndicate shootout at his house… well, his numbers don’t look so good, do they? And the police showed up just in time to find out about that, didn’t they? But not soon enough to actually make a difference. And yesterday - far, far too soon - you hired a political consulting firm. To run for mayor. The tough on crime cop, grown fat on busts we handed to you, running against the corrupt politician.” Asami shakes her head. “The easiest victory you could’ve ever hoped for. If you even make it to the starting line.”

“The airbenders, though. I-”

“I’ve seen the numbers. I know how much we’ve paid you, over the years. And I know where you’ve been skimming as well. It’s fine, really. We expect things like that. And of course, you have to live within certain means. If you look too wealthy, people start to wonder. So you had quite the nest egg built up. Enough to make you one the wealthiest men around, though no one would know it. No one but my father and I, naturally. So the fortune spent on hiring airbending snipers? It doesn’t rule you out. If anything, it implicates you further.”

He licks his lips. “I-”

“I hope you’re done denying this.”

He puts his head down. “Make it quick. Please.”

Asami puts her gun to his head. “Quick? No. I’m not going to kill you quickly, because I’m not going to kill you at all. You have a lot of life - and a lot of utility - left. And we’re going to wring every drop of both out of you. In fact, we’d like nothing more than for you to become mayor… because from here on out, your primary job title is the Sato family bitch. No more payments, no more anything. We’re done giving to you. Now, we just take. If you fail in this new arrangement, if you slip up one more time - even the tiniest little mistake - I’ll kill you myself. Slowly. Painfully. So don’t fuck us again, Saikhan. You understand?”

He looks up with wide eyes, shimmering with tears. When they see the gun, they suddenly narrow. “Asami… that’s…”

“I know what this is. And I know you do as well. Doesn’t matter.”

“It does, though. It… it could be evidence. You... shouldn't keep it. It’s not safe. What if someone found out? You could be arrested. I… I’ll take it. I-”

She taps the butt of the gun against his nose. Hard enough to hurt, but not enough to damage. “Can’t have you walking around with a broken nose. A shame, because I’d have really enjoyed hitting you harder than that. Weren’t you listening to me? I said don’t fuck us again. And already you’re threatening me, then trying to get me to hand you something that would be obvious leverage. But I’m not handing it to you, and you’re not telling anyone. Because if you do, well… just remember what I said about slowly, and painfully. I know you first met me when I was six, but I’m not six any longer. Please don’t treat me like a child. I’ve grown up. Now get up.”

“I… I-”

“It’s a minor sprain. You’ll be fine, after a few days of limping. Which, a man of your age… one would hardly call that suspicious. Anyway, you’ve been having knee troubles lately, haven’t you?”

He swallows. “Must be the weather. It’s a little chilly, and the… the moisture gets to it.”

“Sorry to hear that.” She extends a hand, and helps him to his feet. He stumbles for a moment, hops, and finds his balance. Asami gestures to the other men. “Would you like help, walking to your car?”

“Could I say no?”

“You can say whatever you like. But I really must insist.”

“That’s... very generous of you.”

“I know.” 

The men begin to walk Saikhan away, taking him around the house, I think towards the front garage. He is limping a little, but it doesn’t seem too bad. I guess it’s not torn, then. Asami lets out a heavy sigh, and I see her breath for a moment. 

“Any questions, Blue? Or did that pretty much cover it?”

“I… no. I’m good.”

Asami slides her gun back into concealment, turns to me, and smiles. Like she’s flipped a switch in herself, and again, in me. 

“Good.” She puts a hand on my shoulder, and starts walking towards the house. “Now let’s see about that envelope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole thing needed some space, and of course the whole envelope thing will need a ton of room. So we're giving it a whole chapter, which will be the next chapter. I'm not just dragging out the tease, promise. (Though I reserves the right to do so with future chapters.)


	38. Chapter 38

Asami is walking with me towards the house, across the lawn. The lawn which she just threatened to water, using a man’s blood. She’s smiling now though, and everything about her demeanor speaks to a person who’s generally pleased, maybe just out for a nice evening stroll.

And it is a nice evening I suppose. The air is crisp and moist, soft and cool against your skin. The jumpsuit almost feels a little too warm for me, but I imagine it’s about right for Asami. She’s got her arm hooked in mine, and there’s extra warmth generated there as well. Just a little pocket where our arms would touch, if it weren’t for the fabric in the way.

My mind wanders to the removal of those barriers, to our skin touching again, but I try to push it away. For now, at least. Not that it isn’t a nice image. Just I think maybe my mind needs to stay focused on other things, right at this moment. There’s the envelope, which is from Kuvira. Thinking about that - about her - does the trick. All anxiety and fear and violence, and that’s a potent cocktail to suppress any other thoughts, any other desires.

And then there’s that whole thing with Saikhan. It’s hitting me now that he’s the bastard who damn near broke me. Who damn near ruined all of us, all of this. That whole fucking shootout was his doing. Because of him, I had to kill those people. He put me in the grass, knee deep in blood, then drowning in it. I’m starting to think maybe Asami was a little too merciful.

“You’re staring,” Asami whispers.

I had been, I notice. Well, not exactly. My eyes had stayed right on her, but I was really looking right on past, just spacing out. Thinking about her, yes, but not staring exactly. And then thinking about other things, and definitely not staring.

“Something’s on your mind, Blue. You said you didn’t have any questions… was that true?”

“True enough,” I say. “I’m clear on what he did, but not exactly clear on what you’re going to do about it. Or why you didn’t just kill him. But I didn’t ask, because you don’t ask questions like that.”

“Who’s this ‘you’ you’re talking about?”

“Well… everyone, basically. Everyone knows you don’t ask questions about syndicate business, unless-”

“Unless you’re in the syndicate. Which you are, don’t forget.”

Right. It’s not that I’d forgotten, so much as it was just… all mixed up. You get the syndicate paint mixed with the cop paint - never mind all the other colors and identities - and the paint that’s left over is just murky and doesn’t really look like anything at all. “Well… ok then. Why not just kill the bastard? I mean, he’s already fucked you once. So…”

“So you think he’ll do it again?”

“I think it’s risky to assume he wouldn’t.”

Asami opens a door, and we’re back inside, making our way somewhere, via some route I don’t know. “You can’t do anything in this business without assuming some risk. Certainly not anything with the potential for high reward. Which, make no mistake, this could be very rewarding. With the mayor in our pocket - and I mean completely owned by us, rather than just rented, as with Raiko - we could actually get a police chief appointed who doesn’t have a stick up her ass, and a misplaced sense of justice rammed right up there with it.”

I almost laugh before I remember I’m not really supposed to know who Chief is. Certainly not supposed to have met her. “I can see how that would be… useful. I can also see how that would be risky. I mean… you just threatened to kill him, but also to cut his cash flow. That could piss a guy off.”

Asami shrugs. “Well, yes. I did threaten that. Because I’m the bad cop. You follow?”

I grin. “I actually think you might make a pretty good detective, Asami.”

“Why thanks. But that’s not what I’m talking about. Which you know, of course.”

“I guessed as much. Being a detective just doesn’t pay nearly well enough to suite your tastes, let me tell you. You’d have to downsize those garages.” I laugh. “Maybe even live in one. Still, they’re sure nicer than my apartment was, back South.”

We’re walking through a maze of luxuriously glossy hardwood, with paintings - actual original paintings, it looks like - and it’s like the house itself is driving the point home. Really rubbing it in.

Asami sighs. “You know what I said earlier about reputations being weapons? Well, I was using mine. People think of me, and they think of violence. They think of revenge. So I use that. Just like I did with Varrick, and Zhu Li. I can negotiate - and I do - using other things, but ultimately, everything comes back to killing. That’s what people expect, so that’s what I give them. You play into peoples’ worldviews, manipulate rather than challenge their expectations, and it’s really remarkable how malleable they can be.”

“Which makes the good cop… your father? He did mention that he tried to talk you out of… revenge... when I first met him.”

Asami nods, looking a little solemn now, at just a sideways mention of that night. “Exactly. His reputation is that of the shrewd businessman, who will put aside any slight if it means a single extra coin, much less a briefcase of full of bills. So I played my part, and he’ll play his. Tomorrow, he’ll speak with Saikhan, and apologize for his daughter’s reaction. ‘You know how she is. We’ll resume payments, and even support your candidacy in any way we can. We’ll also provide all the protection you could want. But you must know, there is one thing I can’t protect you from. If it comes to it, she won’t be stopped.’ Something like that. Probably a little more subtle. We tried buying his loyalty, and it didn’t quite do the trick. So we’re adding fear to the equation. Working him from both sides. Let him be loyal to my father, and deathly afraid of me.”

“Still, though… you can’t know he won’t betray you again.”

“That’s where I earn my reputation, show it’s more than hollow words, empty talk.”

“You’ll kill him?”

“Yes. And it may come to that anyway. He revealed something there, which makes me a little uncomfortable.”

“He did seem awfully eager to give your father up. And awfully capable. He said he could tell you certain things… but also that he could show you. And then he asked for the gun. Makes it sound like he’s already got a little bit of a collection going, and he was looking to add to it. And I don’t suspect he’s opening a Sato museum.”

Asami nudges me with her shoulder, and it’s a funny thing, that little gesture of affection, mixed up in a conversation like this. Or at least it should be funny, though honestly, it feel right at home. “You picked up on that too?”

I nod.

“Well, you’re right. I didn’t like the sound of that. Still, I would’ve liked to hear more, but then it would’ve looked to the men like I was entertaining the offer. Can’t have that. So maybe we’ll have a slightly more violent talk with him soon, and see what he gives up. Or maybe we’ll just kill him. It’d be a shame, since he really could tip the scales even further in our favor. But we’ll see. This is my father’s plan, for the most part. I’ll give him a chance to speak with Saikhan, then see how he wants to proceed.”

We’re entering that part of the house I know - the only part I know, really - which is marked more by a sensation than anything objective. It looks mostly the same and smells mostly the same and the floor creaks - or doesn’t creak, actually - the same, but I can tell in the way you can just tell these sorts of things. I’d say it doesn’t make sense, but somehow, it does.

We walk past my room, past the study, and we’re near that room where Asami appeared with the dark green eyes. Which means we’re in her wing, close to her room. Or rooms, probably. Either way, that’s where she’s taking me, it looks like. She stops by a door, turns the handle, and pulls me inside.

And this is her room. I don’t know how I know exactly, but it seems plain, as obvious as anything. The colors are hers, and so are the contours, practicality and grace mixing, dancing, merging, until they are one indistinguishable thing. It looks like an extension and expression of Asami, and I think maybe it even smells like her a little. Of course we’re close, so I could just be smelling her. But I don’t think so. This is a fine sensation, and a surrounding one. The reds and the blacks and scents all teaming up to suggest that this is exactly what I think it is. And exactly what I was hoping it would be.

Asami disentangles her arm from mine, and makes her way to a fine wooden dresser. She pulls the glove, bullet, and gun from her pockets, and arranges them there. She takes half a step, then pauses, returning to the gun, then sliding in her top drawer. If she’s hiding it from me, it’s an odd way to do it. I’m watching and she knows I’m watching. But it was her mother’s gun, I know, and feelings of safety regarding things like that don’t have to make sense. And with feelings that don’t make sense, you’re not always going to act exactly rationally.

Still, when she turns towards me, I try to avert my eyes. Try to make it seem like they were always pointed at the floor. I hear her walk across the floor, and feel a hand on my shoulder.

“It’s fine,” she says. “Have a seat.”

I follow her eyes, and they’re leading to her bed. Still wearing the brown jumpsuit, I want desperately to be out of it, now for more than one reason. Still, there’s the matter of the envelope, and that’s first.

I oblige her request, and she sits beside me. She’s close, and I don’t fail to notice that one of her legs is actually touching mine now, just resting there. As comfortable as can be, but it makes me a little anxious. Which is a little strange, considering. I fumble for a moment with some buttons and zippers, before I remember it’s actually not in that pocket, but this one.

I pull out the envelope, and it’s completely unremarkable in appearance. But the contents, I imagine, could be. And it’s that imagining that has me burning up now, so I set to tearing the envelope open.

I catch myself, halfway through. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Still… I… it’s about you. You should have the honors.”

I hand her the envelope, and watch as she finishes opening it. She pulls out a single white piece of paper, and sets the envelope aside. I see black ink on the paper. Handwriting. Just a note? Just a single note? Asami’s eyes begin to scan, then she glances at me.

“Oh, sorry. I suppose you’d like to know what it says?”

I’m not at all sure that I do want to know, but not knowing would be worse, so I just nod.

“It’s a note, first of all. Which…” she sighs, and stares at the ceiling. “She expected - even wanted - us to take the bullet. I mean, this is the first fucking line: _Asami, you’ll find the bullet in a jewelry case, pressed down underneath a ring. It’s all the way in the back, stacked underneath a pile of old newspaper clippings_.”

I don’t know if she means to - or if she does mean to, if it’s a joke - but Asami’s doing a little bit of that voice from earlier, that one where she sounds like Kuvira. More than a little, and even if it’s a joke, I don’t really think it’s funny at all.

“Well… at least you found it without her help. That’s… something? But why? I mean...”

Asami’s eyes are scanning ahead, and I can see that she knows why, and that she doesn’t exactly like it. Her jaw clenches, and she clears her throat.

“ _I’ve given you this note, because I want you to find it. I suspect others might like to have the bullet, so I’ve included the instructions under your name. Hopefully no one else would find that interesting enough to look. About half the family thinks I’ve poisoned Suyin, that I’m the reason she’s not getting better. Nearly the rest have bought that bullshit about your girl bloodbending her, and I haven’t exactly discouraged that line of thinking. So the syndicate is divided between those who want to kill me, and those who want to kill you. People here know I’ve hated your family for years, so they assume I must have hated the idea of a truce with you. And now they think I’ve taken her out, and grabbed power for myself, in order to start a war. But that isn’t true. I’m only trying to hold this together for now, trying to maintain some sense of unity until she comes back. When she does, I’ll happily step aside. Which brings me to the bullet. I hope you’ve got it now, and I’m sorry I couldn’t just give it to you. But I think you understand why that might have been difficult. If you want to defuse this conflict before it explodes, you’ll tell me why she isn’t getting better. Why, even after I bent this bullet out of her, and your girl healed her, she spends every night clutching at her neck, writhing in agony. Tell me what poison this carried, and how to get it out of her. Do this, and she can come back, and maybe we can have a mutually profitable peace._ ”

Asami rubs at her jaw, thinking, worrying. She tosses the note to the side.

“That sounds… remarkably civil,” I say. “Especially for someone who, the last time we saw her, was cursing your entire family.”

Asami shrugs. “She does say she’s hated us for years. You can act civil towards - and work with - people you hate. It's actually very important, in this world.”

“About that... why would she hate you? And for years?”

“I honestly have no idea.”

I rub the back of my head. “I mean… the way she talked to you at the party… the threats the Greenies at Sharks made on her behalf…”

“You don’t believe her?”

“Not even close. Do you?”

“No. But I’ll look into it. There are a couple strange things about the bullet I wanted to check out regardless. And we’re going to see her tomorrow anyway.”

“Wait… we are? Why?”

“My father’s guard, remember? The one who shot Su. I left her a note of my own, telling her what I was planning to give in exchange for the bullet.”

“I must’ve missed that.”

Asami laughs. “Good. If you saw, then Saikhan saw too. And right now, I’m not sure how much I’m comfortable with him knowing. I’d rather he not know there’s a meeting, and I’d certainly rather he not know where it’s going to be.”

I pause, waiting for her to tell me the location. “Asami… where are we meeting her?”

She casts her eyes down, and her face is cold, hard. “I told her to meet us at AS YS 6. That’s it. We’ll see if she knows what that means, and where that is.”

“And if she does?”

“Then we talk.”

“But a talk is never just a talk. You said that yourself.”

The corner of Asami’s lip rises. “I did. And it’s true.”

“Then what kind of talk is that going to be?”

“Won’t know until we have it, I suppose. If we have it. But it could get really red, really quick.”

We’re both hunched over, hands clenched, staring at the floor. Asami moves first, picking up the envelope. She moves to toss it also, then pauses. She wobbles it in the air, then holds it up to the light. There’s an outline of something. Asami narrows her eyes, and lowers the envelope. She tears it vertically, and mutters something about doubled up paper, a second pocket, and how did she not notice sooner. She taps the envelope on the bed, and out falls another note. Just a piece of… no. It’s a little too thick to just be paper, but there are words there. Only a few, scrawled in that same black ink, the same handwriting as before.

“ _I spent the last five years hating your family for taking her from me. After fighting by your side, Asami, and seeing your gun, that theft has taken on new meaning._ _You've already taken so much from me. Don't take Su as well._ ” Asami reads it out loud, staring at it quizzically. A finger dangles over the top of it, touching the lip… she inhales deeply, and closes her eyes. She licks her lips, then opens her eyes again. Her finger twitches, and the photograph flips over.

Because that’s what it is. A photograph. Color, only slightly faded. A girl with blue eyes. That’s what I notice first. Shockingly so, bright and clear beyond what the photo should be able to reproduce. I wonder what they must have looked like, in person. She has an asymmetrical shingled bob haircut, pitch black. Shorter by far than mine is now, even. My eyes go down her jawline, taught and hard, not quite gaunt but nearly so. She’s a little pale to be Water Tribe. A lot pale, actually. And the features are those that would indicate Fire Nation lineage-

The gun. There’s a gun in her hand, and if I didn’t already know, now I do. Even though it’s only a photograph, it seems to shine. To shine like the moon and the stars reflecting down on the ocean water in the deepest night. This too is something cold and hard, and it puts a chill deep inside me.

Asami. It’s her, and now that I know it’s her, it couldn’t be anyone else. But even knowing that, it’s almost too much of a leap for my mind to make. She’s smiling in the picture. Cold and cruel, posing with the gun like it’s her favorite thing in the word. It doesn’t look like her at all, and yet it looks exactly like her. Wearing pants and a button up shirt, each a different shade of blue, and hadn’t she said she used to dress like me? When she had her Water Tribe - or half, but that doesn’t really matter right now - disguise? Hadn’t she said that? And hadn’t she also said her blue eyes were just for a little job? That all that research about traditions and stories was normal, that it was something she always did?

I think back to talking with her father. She disappeared for six months before the Last Dance, and six months after. When he found her, she was in Zaofu, and she was… not herself. Thinking of that now, it makes me a little sick. Not herself? Not even close.

I look at Asami, and her eyes are wide, lifeless. She’s looking past the picture, past the floor, past everything real and tangible. She’s shivering and trembling and her lips are quivering, like she’s trying to speak but the only sounds that are coming out are mumbled nothings.

“Asami… that disguise… it wasn’t for a little job, was it?”

“No.” It comes out broken.

“Was it for... that job?”

“Yes.”

I swallow. “How did she… why does she… were you…”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you-”

“I mean I don’t fucking know! I don’t know what she... what I... what we were. I don't know what she's talking about. I don't know anything... not after that night. But I can… I can feel... something. I can sense it. It’s like a mover reel, pulled out of a fire too late. I have shadows instead of memories. Empty, formless, fleeting things. It’s like a dream you know you had, but once you wake up, you can’t remember. It’s like deja vu for a past life, it’s… it’s like-”

Her voice shatters, and so does she. Her trembling is a quake now, and she’s coming apart. I put my arm on her shoulder, then the other. I pull her in tight, and she’s sobbing, sobbing. For moments that stretch into minutes, that then stretch into units of time that don’t seem to understand time, or at least don’t seem to play by its rules. I hold her until all I hear is the harsh rasp of her breathing, her throat going hoarse. I feel the progression of her breathing, as her chest goes from heaving, to rising and falling in normal rhythm. Her heartbeat slows, her tears cease, and she’s silent, still.

“Asami?” I whisper.

There is no response, and I slowly lift her legs up onto the bed, and rest her head on a pillow. I bend the moisture away from her face, and use a nearby glass of water to clean the smeared makeup away. I wipe her cheek, and she feels cold. But I see the pulse in her neck, the breathing in her chest. I see that she’s alive now, no matter how many deaths she has known before. I see, and I watch. And I see that picture, staring up at me. The smile feels like a taunt, like the cruelest joke in the world has just been told, and that girl - Asami, but somehow... not - is laughing. I flip the picture over, and set it on the nightstand. I grab the note and the envelope and put them there also. I want destroy all of it, to wake up in a world where they never existed. But that choice is gone. Past is prologue, and all that. All I can do now is turn off the lights, and lay down next to Asami. I can put my arms around her and feel her shake, hear her mutter. I can try to hold her together. Although I know she’s watching that broken film, and no bodyguard can protect her from those images. Still, I’m awake all night, just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now you know what was in the envelope. Don't think that's all there is, though. More to come. Lots.
> 
> Also, the hair in the pic looks like this:  
> http://www.1920s-fashion-and-music.com/image-files/1920s-hairstyles-shingled.jpg


	39. Chapter 39

It’s funny how time passes, or doesn’t, depending on what you’re doing. Just laying here, next to Asami, I feel like I’m the one doing the passing. Like time’s standing still in the right lane, and I’m zipping by in the left. Like Father Time’s getting a little up there in years, and maybe his driving isn’t what it used to be.

The ticking of the clock keeps a rhythm, but it’s nothing I can dance to. I have Asami for that anyway. Her heart and her lungs, each moving slowly, steadily. I notice that her heartbeat is faint, hesitant, and so I count it out. I do it ten times, because I’ve got all the time I could need, and it averages out to fifty three beats a minute. I would’ve already guessed Asami’s in damn good shape, but that’s another piece of evidence to support that conclusion. And I guess she’s calm now. Or at least she’s settled into something like acceptance.

Like when you’re drowning, they tell me. You thrash around a first, but once it’s all settled, once you’re really done, people say it gets really calm and really peaceful. Of course I’ve always had a hard time believing that. If they come back to tell the story, then they were never really gone to begin with. So maybe they don’t really know. Maybe they were only ever calm because some part of them knew it was going to be ok.

I hope that’s why Asami’s rhythms seem to have settled into a steady, reliable beat. Maybe she knows this is going to pass, that she’s going to be ok. Maybe she knows she’s going to win, no matter what the game is. Still, I’d feel a lot better if I knew what the game was. If I knew what the fuck Kuvira was doing in general, and what she’s doing to Asami specifically.

The note and the picture are on the nightstand. My back is to both, and the picture is face down. But it doesn’t really matter. I can still feel the eyes, burning in my back, burning in my mind. Blue as mine, blue as the sky, blue as the sea. It suited her. That’s maybe the worst part. That, while it didn’t look like Asami… it looked like someone. It looked natural. Like this was a person born and raised like any other, not some assumed persona Asami put on to do a job. Not something she could take off like a hat.

But then… she hadn’t taken it off, had she? Not until her father had tracked her down, halfway across the world. She wasn’t herself, Hiroshi? I don’t suppose you’d tell me what you meant by that, even if I ask. And I’m sure as shit not asking. And I don’t suppose Asami would tell me either, if only because I’m not sure she’s capable. She talked of shadows of memories, of a burnt film roll. All dark and destructive metaphors, which ironically painted a pretty clear picture of her meaning on their own. But they don’t have to do that, because she made it all pretty damn clear when she said she didn’t fucking know.

I sigh, maybe a little too loud, and try to catch the breath as it escapes. But it’s long gone. Still, Asami doesn’t react. Not at all. She’s been still for a while now. For hours, probably. I imagine her body needs the rest. For all the kinetic fitness she’s shown me she’s capable of, this… this was an entirely different thing. It’s a different kind of challenge. Both physically and mentally. And it’s not one she’s used to. At least, I hope it’s not one she’s used to. Better she be subjected to one night of fresh pain than another layer of scar tissue get added. Just another cut, and she reacts how people react, because she knows how to play it off. But it doesn’t hurt because nothing feels like anything anymore. I hope it’s not that, and I don’t think it is. Still… I feel the anxiety in my stomach, settling down comfortably with my ignorance.

And that’s saying something, because my ignorance is pretty damn substantial right now. I don’t know what Asami doesn’t know, and I can’t know, because no one can or will tell me. And I sure as shit don’t know what Kuvira knows, if she even knows anything at all. This could just be psychological warfare. An intricate lie, taking aim at Asami’s mind, attempting to destroy her most powerful weapon. Not for the first time, I find myself cursing the name Kuvira. For what she said to Asami back after the shootout, and for whatever she’s done - and doing - to her now.

There’s also some dark corner of my mind that hates her for something else. For however she got that picture in the first place, whatever she might have been to… not Asami, but… to the girl that Asami was, for that year. Whoever she was. The writing spoke of that girl being taken from Kuvira, and that’s heavy language. And five years of hatred? At least a friend and maybe… well, I don’t really want to think about it.

I just concentrate on Asami, try to time my breathing with hers. I notice that it’s already done. I think to try to sync my heartbeat as well, but that’s not possible, I remember. You can hold your breath but you can’t hold your blood. No matter what the rumors say about me, that can’t be done. Still, maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, maybe it’s a general mania caused by everything that just happened, but I decide I’m going to try. Don’t really know how, other than to wish it. Or to will it. You don’t really need to be told how to hold your breath, either. It’s just a thing you can do. Your mind thinks it, and the body responds. So… come on, heart. Just flow. Or just… you know… don’t. At least not quite so fast.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that my heart decides to go the other way. In a matter of moments, it’s thumping right along like I just went for a jog. So I slow my breathing, and relax my body. That, I can do. And then the heartbeat goes right back to normal, soon enough. I’d laugh and shake my head, except it’s right up against Asami’s neck, and I really don’t want to disturb her.

So I try to lean my head back just a little, without pulling the rest of my body away. I’m thinking about what we said to one another about floating, drifting along in a sea of red, so I don’t want to give her the impression that I’m letting go. Because I’m not. I’m just staring at the window, not quite out of it, because there’s a curtain there. Still, I can make out hints of light around the edges, playing off the cloth, tinting the walls. I stare at the light, just letting myself drift off into it, until my eyelids close-

And then open again, to see Asami sitting on the bed beside me, sipping coffee, holding that photograph. I had one of those sleeps, then. The worst kind. The blink and you miss it variety. Because a blink is all it is. You don’t get any break from consciousness, and when you wake up, you feel more drowsy and stiff than if you’d just stayed awake in the first place. I groan, twist, and stretch, feeling for all the world like my body has been replaced by old leather.

“Coffee?” Asami asks. It’s her voice again, and it’s whole. I wonder if I helped hold it together, even a little.

I yawn, and feel my mouth cracking at the edges. “Yes please,” I manage.

I manage to contort my body into a seated position beside her on the bed, and she hands me a cup. I take a sip and it’s damn good, but not as hot as I’m used to. Must’ve been asleep for a little while, I guess. Still, it’s working wonders already. Hydrating that leather until it feels malleable again, seeping inside my brain until all the sleep is flushed right out of it.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Thank you.” Her eyes are still cast down, right on the picture.

“Asami, you don’t-”

“I know I don’t have to thank you. But I’m going to. Because you didn’t have to do that either.”

“I did, though. I’m your-”

“That’s not bodyguard duty, Blue.”

“Maybe I wasn’t going to say bodyguard.”

The words are gone before I can check them out, before I can filter and edit. Maybe it’s because I just woke up or maybe it’s something else. I don’t know.

I see Asami swallow. Her jaw moves slightly, and I think the corner of her lip rises. Maybe just a little.

“Her name was Minami.”

“Her?” I notice Asami’s finger tracing the edge of the photograph. Oh. Her.

Asami sighs. “Her. I… I do know better. I don’t want you to think I’m crazy. Although… well, I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.”

I place my hand on her shoulder. “Asami its… I mean… I want to tell you that I understand, or that I will. But I can’t promise understanding. People do that all the time when they can’t possibly know. So I won’t make an empty promise. I won’t lie to you. I won’t do any of that.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Listening.” I laugh a little. “Maybe talking too much also. Mostly just… being present. That’s what you said, right? That’s all any of us can really do, all we can really promise. So I’m giving you that. I’m here, now. For… whatever.”

“Thanks.”

“And thank you.”

“For?”

“For letting me be present. For leaving your door open. Even if it was just a crack.”

Asami smirks. “A crack? I let you in myself, last night.”

“Well, yes. But I mean… earlier. The metaphor. You said-”

“I know what I said.” Her smirk grows, and then Asami laughs a little. It’s nice. Just to see that she can. “And I know exactly what you’re talking about. You really barged right in. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

I shrug. “Just my style, I guess.”

“Well, it suits you. Better you than me, anyway. I don’t have the shoulders to be a battering ram.” She raises a hand to my shoulder, and squeezes. Just in case it wasn’t clear.

She turns to me, and we share a smile. She only holds it for a moment, however, before letting her end drop. Before it’s pressed down under the heavy weight that’s still crushing her. She removes her hand, and flicks the edge of the photograph.

“Minami,” she whispers. And it’s not Asami’s voice now. Smoother, rounder. Like a polished stone at the bottom of a river. “That was my name.”

“Asami… you don’t have to. Not if you don’t want to tell me.”

“Want to’s got nothing to do with it, Blue.” And it’s Asami again. “I think… I think I do have to, though. If Kuvira knows… whatever she knows… and however she’s going to use it… if she’s going to use it… regardless, I can’t have this weakness.”

I scoot just a little closer. Only a little, because there was only a little space to begin with. “Ok.”

Asami sighs. “My name - her name - I…” She shakes her head, inhales, exhales. She closes her eyes, and pauses. “Ok. Ok, I can do this. We’ll start… well, we’ll start at the beginning. About which not much needs to be said, because those Agni Kai fucks already told you the story. And it did go like that, as I recall. Of course… it’s…I was six. So who knows? All I remember is fire, screaming, and blood. So much blood… her head, broken open...”

I take her hand, and squeeze gently. “Hey. I know. We… you don’t need to tell me that part.”

Her hand tightens around mine, and I see her eyes clench. Holding back tears. “Thanks.” She sets the photograph aside, and with her free hand, she pinches her eyes. After several moments, she licks her lips, picks the photo back up, and clears her throat. “Well, after… that…. that was my life. My life was death, and the pursuit of it. It was everything. My only occupation. My only obsession. My only love. Sure, I… I did other things. I invested in them to an extent, and maybe I was even good at them. Cars, school, even a couple sports. I tried dancing, but… well, I just couldn’t.

“But all of that was superficial. What I really was, what I really wanted to become, was a weapon. An instrument of death. So that’s what I devoted myself to. My father was happy to oblige, once I convinced him it was all for self defense. I felt a little bad, at first, for lying to him. But then I realized that I wasn’t lying. I was going to defend myself - and anyone else like me - by annihilating the Agni Kai. By making an example of them. I was going to write a letter in their blood, send it to every sick Triad fuck who would try something like that again…

“And I guess… that was my childhood. My teenage years. Taking every martial arts class my father could find… then taking those he couldn’t. I sought out anyone who sold violence, money in hand. I learned how to kill a thousand different ways, then found myself fighting, practicing, in back rooms and basements across the city. I knew the knowledge wasn’t enough; I needed to acquire a taste for blood. And I did. So much so that fists and feet couldn’t sate my thirst. So I turned to guns. And that was magic, for me. The marriage of violence and the machine, the only things I really understood. The only things that really understood me.”

Asami sighs, and turns to me for a moment. “It makes me sound like a monster, I know. But… well…”

“It’s ok,” I say. I don’t want to say that I understand, because I promised I wouldn’t. And I don’t. I can’t. But I can sympathize, so I do. And I can be here, listening.

Asami turns back to the picture. “Once we approached the end of the Agani Kai’s sentences, I felt ready. Beyond ready, honesty. I lay in bed every night, trembling with anticipation. An almost sexual desire. Still, I… didn’t know how I’d do it. Until I realized that I wouldn’t: Someone else would. Because someone else could get close, could work at their club. Maybe pick them off slowly, one by one, two by two, but that would be enough.

“That’s where… she came in. When Minami was born. I invented out of thin air, honestly. Just an orphan girl in Republic City, with a Fire Nation mother and a Water Tribe father. Nothing but a fling and she never knew them. Grew up with nothing, making her way around town, traveling with only what her trumpet could buy her. Which… I learned that too. Or she did. And she got an on and off gig, playing at the Last Dance. This is where it becomes just a little blurry. For it to work, for it to really work, I couldn’t be Asami. Not really. I had to live as this other person, to really become her. I kept two things only: My mother’s gun, and the memory of her death. I poured everything into the latter. I loved my hate until it was all consuming.

“And then I got lucky. Lucky beyond belief. I wouldn’t have to kill them one by one, two by two. There was going to be a meeting. All of them, or nearly so, in one building. All of them in one room, probably. It would be the easiest thing, to kill them all. To spill their blood until it flooded the room. If I drowned in it… well, I didn’t care. It’s amazing how much easier it is to kill when you don’t care about your own life, and I didn’t. I was Minami, but I was Asami’s hatred, and Asami’s death.

“So I… slipped the right people some money, to make sure I got the gig that night. I won’t make it sound like an intricate plan, because it wasn’t. I stood on the stage, playing my songs like normal… right up until the last. The last dance at the Last Dance. _Almost Blue_ was the song I played. The song everyone played, for a few months there. It brought everyone to the floor. Everyone, and they were all a stumbling, drunk mess by that point. I paused for just a moment as the song ended, waited for the rest of the band to get off the stage. I grabbed a larger case I’d brought - which they never even bothered to check, but if they had, it would’ve looked like it only contained a cello - and pulled out my Sato submachine gun from a hidden space. And then I fired. Right into the crowd, until one clip was empty. But I had more. More than I could ever need. I fired until the gun was searing hot in my hands, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care, because I had brought a knife anyway. And I wanted to use it. I wanted to feel their death on my hands, to have their blood on my skin like fifteen years before that… when I was red with hers…”

Asami sighs, and she’s squeezing my hand tight now, her eyes clenching, fighting back tears again.

“And then… and then I just don’t know. Asami Sato loved that hatred, that promise of revenge. It was all she lived for, all she had ever lived for, really. And so, with it done… I… I guess she didn’t need to live anymore. That one last piece of Asami died, and…”

Asami shakes her head.

“The next thing I remember clearly is sitting at a kitchen table, with seven dead bodies around me. My father was there, with four of his surviving men, holding a picture. Him, myself, and my mother. He was pleading with me, just repeating my name - Asami Sato - begging me to remember who I was. He said I was all he had left, that he needed me. That I had to drop this… this thing I was doing. This charade. I had to come back to Republic City, and be his daughter again. And I did. I didn’t know why I shouldn’t, honestly. It made all the sense in the world. He was my father, why shouldn’t I go? So I walked out the door, and got in a car with him. And we drove away from Zaofu, because that’s where he had found me, apparently. When I got home I… I destroyed everything… the clothes… the contacts… any evidence. And then my father set to building up my name, creating the Asami Sato who killed all the Agni Kai, the Asami Sato who would do the same to you, if you crossed her.” She laughs. “He had his daughter back, in some ways. But more accurately he had a new one, named Asami Fucking Sato.”

Asami turns to me and smiles, but there is nothing there but tragedy. As pure an expression of sadness as you could ever see.

“I’m sorry,” is all I can say.

Asami stands, and pulls me up with her. She shakes her head. “No. We… we’re not going to be sorry. We’re going to be prepared.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean get changed, Blue. It’s morning, and we’re not missing sparring for a second day in a row.”

With that, she squeezes my hand, then releases it. She flashes another grin, and gently pushes me towards the door. I go, holding her gaze for as long as I can. She’s telling me not to be sorry, so I won’t speak it. Not with my words. But it’s all my eyes can say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Multiple paragraph dialogue with one speaker is odd looking, because it doesn't happen often. But the lack of ending quotes is on purpose, and correct, I swear! Hopefully it's not confusing. 
> 
> Anyway I don't mean for this to sound self promotional - which it will anyway - but I've got an LoK specific tumblr now. I won't mention it again, and I only do so now because I think I might like to use it for prompt ideas, once this story is finished. Which it's still not really very close to being, but... whatever. Thanks for humoring me.  
> http://beech27.tumblr.com/


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost Blue: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4PKzz81m5c  
> The song plays in this chapter, and maybe it would be fun to sort of play along.

Standing in my closet is like standing in a room unto itself, and trying to find anything in it is a damn chore, I’m beginning to realize. Finding any old something would be the easiest thing you could imagine; because there are thousands of somethings here. But if you’re looking for one specific thing… well, I won’t say it’s like a needle in a haystack, because you could just get a metalbender and make that pretty damn easy if you wanted to. But so far as I know, no one exists to bend my sparring uniform out of this closet.

Because I have one. Asami’s covered every other possibility, I think, looking through dresses, pants, shirts, shoes. All enough to dress an army of Blues, much less just the one standing here now, looking for plain black cotton pants and a blue tanktop. That’s what I’m expecting to find, because that’s - color adjusted, of course - what Asami wore back when she thought we were going to spar that first time.

Of course we didn’t get to it, that time. But we’re going to now. I can’t help but wonder what it’s going to be like. I’m… excited, almost? There’s anxiety and fear mixed up there, and it’s all a pretty potent cocktail, enough to make me feel just a little off. But not bad. Because a pretty significant part of me wants to see what she can do. What Asami Fucking Sato brings to the table. Quite a bit, if the stories are true. If the hushed whispers and hidden glances are to be believed, then she’s a monster of monsters. She should sprout eight arms and tear me to pieces in a matter of seconds, or maybe just swallow me up and eat me whole. Hadn’t Mako said something about her eating souls, way back?

I have to laugh at that. I knew it was bullshit then, but now I know the specific kind of bullshit it is. I’ve spoken with Hiroshi and, more importantly, Asami just now. I know how stories like that get started, and I know why they get started. I know that Asami is damn capable - I’ve seen that - but I’ve also seen beneath that. I’ve seen Asami Sato, with no added anything in between the names. I’d call that “plain” Asami Sato, but there’s still nothing plain about her. So no, not plain. Not even a little. But not a monster either. She’s… she’s a person. Like everyone else. Except… not like everyone else. Or anyone else.

I see where my mind is going with that, down a long and twisty road. It’s not one I’m entirely familiar with, but it’s one people talk about, and so I’m pretty sure where it’s headed. You read about it and see it in the movers. The kind of thing sappy poetry is written about, and you spend your whole life thinking it’s the most stupid thing in the whole world, right up until you don’t anymore.

I think about Asami’s face, picturing it made up perfectly, structured like a sculpture, like she’s marble and porcelain, crafted to achieve some ancient ideal of beauty, and… and I’m starting to sound like a bad poet myself. I try to shake away the image, but all I manage to do is modify it. Her makeup is smeared now, ruined. Streaked by tears, the sadness pouring out of her. I see myself embracing her, as I did last night, and see her face disappear into my shoulder. Still, I want to reach inside her, find that sadness, and tear it out.

But I can’t reach that place, can’t pierce the darkness. I can’t, and no one could. It’s an impossible thing. Whatever that void is, whatever it represents, it’s not something that can be taken away. But filled, maybe? That might be a faint hope, but it’s hope. Something like a candle in the dark. An inclination that, while the void maybe can’t be banished, it can be given color. And maybe that’s not ideal, but it’s not nothing. Maybe I can’t protect Asami - not from everything, and certainly not from this - but I think I can help her. I think maybe I can help her paint that darkness.

Paint it red? The color comes to me from somewhere, and suggests itself as the answer. I can’t argue. Seems everything is red these days, in my world and hers. I don’t have to like the answer, but then maybe I never really had a choice anyway. Maybe our canvas was always going to be red.

Maybe, but I can’t say. Regardless, thinking of violence pulls my mind back to the task at hand, which is getting dressed to commit some of my own. Simulated violence, but not. Live sparring, Asami had called it. Training to fight by actually fighting. Sometimes it’s the simplest ideas that are the most brilliant, and I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Asami would have one.

Of course, I’ve got a few surprises myself. If she thinks I’m going to be a pushover - or worse, that I’ll just let her win - she’s got another thing coming. She’ll find-

And I’ll find the clothes I’m looking for. Finally. Stashed somewhere near the back, and maybe she should make me a map for this room by itself. Or at least explain to me what the organization pattern is - because with her, I can’t accept the possibility that there isn’t one.

Regardless, that’s a complaint for later. Now, I set to the urgent matter of putting my pants on, tightening the drawstring, then pulling the - blue, of course - tank on as well. I wander out into the hallway, make my way to the study table, and Asami’s not there. She could still be in her room, maybe getting changed herself, maybe getting cleaned up, maybe administering some special kind of combat makeup. So I set off that way, my bare feet gliding across the smooth wood floor. I feel pretty good, pretty natural, pretty myself, dressed like this. I knock on her door, hold for a moment, then rap again. Nothing.

“Ms. Sato has already made her way down to the gymnasium.”

Spacing out, staring at the door, the voice is like an unwelcome hand on the shoulder. I turn, and maybe it’s the clothes, maybe they just put me in that kind of mood, but my fists come right along, and I’m almost set on knocking out one of the Sato family butlers. Maybe he’s used to it, or maybe he’s seen more than his share of violence, but not even his eyelids react. Anyway, I stop myself short enough that it might not even be obvious that there was, for a fraction of a moment, the threat of violence. I try to pass the movement off as something else, swing my hands to the top of my head, and rock back on my heels.

“Oh, thanks,” I say in a probably too cheery voice. “Could you… point me in that direction?”

He nods, and begins walking. “Ms. Sato asked that I do better than that.”

“You’re my guide for this expedition?”

“Indeed.”

I follow the man, setting the soft patter of my bare feet behind the clicking of his hard rubber heels. He’s assured, walking like someone who knows the place. And I imagine he does. It’s his job, after all, and probably has been for some time. Once you’ve seen the inside of this place, I can’t imagine the Satos just let you walk, and happily provide a helpful reference to future prospective employers. No, something tells me that, once you’re here, you’re here for life.

I’d worry about the implications that could have for me - I don’t have any idea what kind of exit plan Chief has in mind for me… or if she has one at all - but I’m too busy thinking back to my hand to hand training. It wasn’t nothing, but I’m not sure it’s going to be very helpful here. We were taught - with good reason - that most people don’t have a damn clue what they're doing, so they either swing wildly with a fist, or some sharp object. Failing that, they usually try some sort of tackle that often ends up looking more like a running hug. Simply, most of our training was spent learning how to deal with the kinds of people we’d face most of the time. In terms of saving the department time and money, I’d call it a success. In terms of preparing me to face Asami, I’m not sure I’d go quite that far. 

Of course, I didn’t leave my training up to the department. Not entirely. Like with my shooting, I practiced, and for hours at a time. Because I loved the very real physical sensations that came with it - the burning in the muscles, the choking lack of oxygen in the lungs - and maybe a little because some part of me always thought - maybe even hoped - that I’d end up in Republic City, staring down someone who knew exactly how to handle themselves. When that time came, maybe I’d know how to handle them.

As the man opens a door, and I find myself staring into a gymnasium the size of a small town, I figure it’s about time to find the realities behind those maybes. There’s a mat on the floor, and I walk across it, glancing around at weighted clubs, parallel bars, a heavy bag, a speed bag, and a thousand other things I can’t keep track of. I think you could train an army here, and then I remember that Hiroshi basically does have an army at his disposal, so that’s probably not too far from the truth. I make my way to the other end of the mat, walking towards Asami, who’s standing - in the same sparring outfit as before, red instead of blue, but otherwise the same as mine - near the wall, right up next to something that looks like a metal flower, splayed open on a wooden box. In her hands is a large black disc.

I step off the mat and back onto hardwood, stopping right next to Asami. I tap her on the shoulder. “You’re using weapons? Thought maybe you’d have confidence than that, Asami.”

She turns, and flashes me a quick grin. Maybe she saw me coming, maybe not. Either way, she doesn’t flinch. She hold up the black disk, and laughs. “This? No, It’s not a weapon. Not for anyone in the world except me, probably.” She flips the disc in her hands, and sighs.

I put my hands on my hips, and cock my head. “And what does that mean, exactly?”

She raises an eyebrow, goes to speak, then shakes her head. “Oh, right. Sorry. I forget, sometimes, that we get everything first in this city. And we - meaning my father and I - get everything first even among that group. This is… that song.”

“On the… thing?”

“On the record, yes.”

Something clicks, and I go searching for it, filed away somewhere in the back of my brain. “Oh,” I let the syllable drag out, as the realization arrives. “I remember seeing one of those in a catalog, right about before I left. Someone in town was thinking of getting one, everyone said. Would’ve been a pretty big deal, I figure.” I point to the black disc. “So that’s the record, yeah? It has the music.” I point to the box with the metal flower on top. “And that’s the player. Where it comes out.”

Asami nods. “And would you believe this is a Varrick invention?”

“You mean a Zhu Li invention, with Varrick’s initials on it?” I wink.

She smiles and laughs. “Probably more like that, actually.”

Her smile doesn’t last long, though. As she goes about setting the record on top of the wooden box, and then a pin on top of it, a cloud comes over her, and all the laughter is just gone right out of her. I can hardly imagine the face she’s making now is capable of smiling, never mind that I just saw her do it.

There’s a hiss, a crackle, and a faint popping coming out of the flower. It’s like there’s all sorts of metal parts just bouncing around inside that box. It takes a moment, but I hear a few piano keys. I recognize them, of course. From that night. It’s that song, the one that set Asami to unraveling, the one Kuvira hummed right in her face… and the one Kuvira said a woman she used to know hummed in the middle of gunfights. I think about the picture upstairs, and I think I know who Kuvira was talking about. I think I even know that woman’s name.

And I think Asami knows all of this too. Or if she doesn’t know it, then she’s realizing it. It’s a creeping darkness, a spreading void, and I can see her fighting back the fear as she steps onto the mat. I hear the first note of a trumpet, and see Asami twitch, almost spasm, but she keeps walking.

I follow her to the mat, reaching out a hand. “Asami… this-”

“It’s something I need to do. That we need to do.” She turns, faces me, and crouches. Her posture looks ready to fight, but behind those fists, she looks anything but. “I can’t be put out of commission by a fucking song. No matter what history I have with it. It’s a weakness, and it’s one Kuvira apparently knows about. Seems to know… really well. I sent someone to get this record the day after she demonstrated that fact, while you were still out cold. Ideally, we’d have weeks to callous me, before seeing Kuvira again. But this city doesn’t give a person ideally very often, so this is what we have to make do with.”

I’m just standing, hands at my sides, looking as much like someone waiting for a bus as someone ready to fight. Slowly, I bring my hands up, and swing one leg out in front of the other. Still loose, but ready.

Asami cocks her head slightly. “What kind of style is that?”

“My style is no style, Asami. I’m a waterbender, right? So I move like water. I know techniques, but I don’t bother with styles or stances exactly. I don’t know what you’re going to do. So it’d be silly to limit myself to one style, to think that I could predict your actions, and then respond correctly.”

“So you’re not even going to try?”

“Nope.”

“Just make shit up?”

“Not even that. I just turn my mind off, and flow.”

“That easy?”

“That simple. But simple ain’t easy.”

Asami shrugs. “You’re always welcome to lose on your own terms.” She clenches her fists, and leaps towards me. Uncharacteristically, she’s using sharp, jagged movement. She circles, offering shadows of punches and kicks. I see each of them before they fly, and flow right out of the way. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world, because right now, that’s exactly what it is.

She’s getting frustrated already, I can see that. Beads of sweat are forming on her skin, and she’s only just started. And every one of her strikes so far has been half speed at best. Not really meant to hit, much less harm.

And so I’m evading, because I can’t bring myself to counter. Not now. Not with this weight on her shoulders. Now while she’s hurting like this. It’s like there are strings coming out of that flower, each one knotting around Asami, and tugging at her, holding her back. She’s moving poorly, but worse, she’s moving scared. Like someone who doesn’t know what she’s doing, and couldn’t trust herself even if she did.

Still, when she lunges, my mind forgets that promise of inaction. Or if it still remembers it, my synapses don’t get the message to the rest of my body in time. Because as her right hand comes forward - too high, and too wide - I duck, lean in, and place my right leg behind both of hers. I drive my right arm into her chest, and as I push, swiveling my hips, I sweep her leg. She lands on the mat with a thud, her arms wide. I can almost hear the air come out of her, as her mouth gapes open.

It only takes that one missed breath for me to kneel beside her, grab her her shoulders, and start looking around for water. Shit. Is she hurt? What the fuck did I do? And why? She wasn’t right, and I could see that. I knew it the whole time, and yet I still-

She coughs. “I… I’m fine. Just got the... air knocked out of me.”

“Sorry.”

“No." She pauses, inhaling deeply. "I’m sorry. That was fucking pathetic. That wasn’t like me, just then. I’m better than that.”

“I know.”

We’re both silent, still, listening to the wail and the whine of the trumpet, singing out its passionate melancholy. Singing, until it fades out, and the piano returns. The keys play on, as the breath comes back to her. I lower myself from my knees, and sit beside her. My hands remain on her shoulders, but the urgency is gone from my grip. I’m just looking at her now, seeing something on her and in her that I can’t heal. It’s not a physical pain. Nothing I caused, and nothing I can change. I can’t do anything but sit, sit right here. And so that’s what I’m doing. Sitting and watching her chest rise and fall, her eyes stare off into nothing. Listening to the keys ring out in the heavy silence.

_Almost blue_

Words from the flower. A man’s voice. Mournful. I didn’t know there were lyrics...

_Almost doing things we used to do_  
 _There's a girl here and she's almost you_  
 _Almost all the things that you promised with your eyes_  
 _I see in hers too_  
 _Now your eyes are red from crying_

_Almost blue_  
 _Flirting with this disaster became me_  
 _It named me as the fool who only aimed to be_

_Almost blue_  
 _Almost touching it will almost do_  
 _There's a part of me thats always true... always_  
 _All the things that you promised with your eyes_  
 _I see in hers too_  
 _Now your eyes are red from crying_

_Almost you_  
 _Almost me_  
 _Almost blue_

Looking into Asami’s eyes, I see that they are red. Thinking of mine, my blue eyes, what she’s called me since we met… I’ve always found it endearing, but now it feels like a darker shade of blue for sure. Dark like the deep part of the sea, right before the light gives up its searching grasp, and returns to the surface. Blue like those depths, hinting at an infinity of pitch black.

“Asami…”

“It’s not because of that. I promise. But I could stop calling you it all the same, if you want.”

“I don’t want you to, honestly. Unless, I mean-”

“It doesn’t bother me. Not when it’s you. There’s nothing almost about you... Blue.” Asami smiles, but it’s a strained, forced thing.

Still, I smile back. I pull her up by her shoulders, and find my arms around her again. She’s not crying this time though. Not heaving, sobbing, or anything. Just still.

“I don’t know how she knows. About that… about me… about her… about any of this.”

I swallow. “I bet she’ll tell us.”

Asami nods. “I bet she will.”

I don’t say “Whether we want to know or not”, because want to’s got nothing to do with it. Not in this city, and not with Kuvira. And besides, we need to know. At least… I think Asami does. If Kuvira can help give color to that six month void… then I hope she does. As long as that color's not red, that is.

Asami leans away from me, and pushes herself to her feet. “This is a dead end.”

“This?”

“The sparring. For today, at least. We can go tomorrow, without any gimmicks. Or with the gimmick saved until the very end, rather. I think that might be the best way to approach it. But not right now. We don’t have all day to waste on this, and that’s exactly what we’d be doing.”

“So the firing range is next, right?”

Asami nods. “It is. I need to practice with… that gun. The platinum one. I’ve almost never fired it - couldn't bring myself to do it - and while I hope I don’t need to use it this evening… you never know.”

“Do you… have a record player up there too?”

“Sadly, yes. And we’re going to use it. Firing a gun is slightly less… kinetic, on my part. So hopefully I fare better.”

I step next to her, and put my hand on her back. “If there’s anything… I mean... you know.”

The corner of Asami’s lip rises a fraction. “I do know. And thanks. You’re doing all you can.”

“It’s not much.”

“Sometimes not much is all we can do.” She shrugs. “And sometimes, not much turns out to be quite a bit more than we think. Sometimes it turns out to be enough to do the job.”

“You think this is one of those times?”

Asami sets off towards the door. “Ask me tomorrow.”

My steps lock in beside hers, and we each glance at one another. Our eyes meet, and maybe neither set likes the look of tomorrow, and maybe both are sick of looking at a bloody past, because they just linger there as we walk, grabbing at the present like a piece of driftwood in a dark sea.


	41. Chapter 41

Following right along beside Asami is different than following behind that man from earlier, both in the obvious ways and in some that aren’t quite. She looks nicer and smells nicer - even with the sheen of sweat, it just seems to amplify rather than counter the usual pleasantness - and her feet are bare also, so we’re each traipsing down the hardwood with silent footfalls. Like we’re hunters back South, trying to sneak up on this thing or that, only walking silently in snow is a whole different deal.

But the difference goes deeper than that, and is tangled up in things that aren’t so superficial. The man walked like an employee who knew his way around a place; Asami’s walking like someone who is wholly of this place. Like she’s an extension of it, or it’s an extension of her, or some combination or compromise of the two things.

And that’s right enough, I suppose. This is her home, so she should look comfortable here. Of course, comfortable is the one thing she doesn’t look. Even though she looks well slotted here, like a peg in a hole that’s perfectly suited to fit it, something looks off. Like either that peg or that hole got wet, and now they’re warping just slightly. On some level too small to see, one or both are changing, and maybe they still fit perfectly now, but maybe they won’t soon.

Of course the thing about soon, Asami told me, is that it never really happens. Soon is land when you’re lost at sea, or water when you’re parched in the desert, or food when you’re starving on the tundra. It’s the thing just over the horizon to pull your ass out of the fire. Only there’s always a horizon. You can keep on walking, swimming, floating, whatever, and you never really get there. It just keeps moving away, at exactly the same speed you’re approaching it.

But still, we’re clinging to one another, floating on and on in that deep dark red sea, because what else is there to do? Not much, I suppose. And I suppose she’s thinking just about the same thing, because I don’t feel her letting go either. And so we’re floating in that sea, walking down a hallway, turning down, always down, headed towards the firing range. Burying it deep makes sense, and I guess I haven’t heard any gunshots in the time I’ve spent in this house. So that’s one positive. Makes keeping your army sharp possible, while still keeping the idea of naps on the table.

I yawn. Maybe thinking about sleep isn’t the best idea, when I got so little last night. Staying up, watching over Asami like it mattered, like there was actually something I could do, it was-

“I kept you up, didn’t I?” Asami, with something like concern lacing her words.

I smile, hoping that my face will say “No” on it’s own, but looking at her, I don’t think that’s the message she’s getting. I rub the back of my neck. “Well that’s… no. I kept me up.”

Asami tilts her head. “You might’ve got the better of that sparring session, Blue, but you don’t want a semantics fight with me. Promise. So you kept yourself up? Ok then. But let’s peel back a layer. Why did you keep yourself up?”

I glance back and forth, maybe looking for a clever response, but I’m not seeing anything but empty walls. “I just wanted to do something. Even if sitting there, wide awake, was the best I could do. It wasn’t nothing. And it wasn’t your fault anyway. If you want to blame someone, blame… her.”

Asami smirks. “Her name’s not a curse, you know. Kuvira. Kuvira Kuvira Kuvira. See? She doesn’t show up, out of the blue - well that sounds a little funny, doesn’t it? - to kill us, like some nightmare creature.”

“Not quite, no. But maybe not as far away as you’re saying.”

Asami just sighs, and shakes her head. “Seems like we’ve got a lot of maybes, right at this moment. And not a lot we can do about them, other than wait and see what they grow into. But anyway, I was just trying to say thanks. Thanks for… the reason you’re tired.”

I manage half a shrug. “It’s fine. You’ve already thanked me once anyway.”

“Well I’m doing it again. That ok?”

“It is. It’s just… I didn’t really do anything. Certainly nothing special. I mean… you’re my…” I find her eyes, and try search, reading, for just a moment. I’m looking for a message, plain as anything, but it’s never really that easy, is it? “My friend. So I did what friends do.”

Asami laughs, just a little. “Is that what friends do? Don’t remember anyone ever calling me a friend before. Can’t say I really know how that goes.”

“Well, I can’t say I really know how this goes either. Honestly. This is… different.”

“So if it’s different, maybe you did do something special.”

I open my mouth, then pause, because the words that would come out aren’t what I want to say right now. At least, not words I think I should. Maybe I should save them for a quieter time, a time without violence before and after. Of course, maybe we’re not going to get a time like that. Not even soon, and soon is bullshit anyway.

Asami grins. “Semantics, remember?”

I feel a warmth rising in my face, and I duck my head down. Not that I can hide it worth a damn anyway. “Yeah… yeah, I remember.”

I feel an arm over my shoulder, and it pulls me in closer, right up against Asami. I feel breath on my cheek, and it’s even warmer now. Warmer from inside and out. So I wonder, when her lips press against my skin, right there, does it burn? Maybe just a little? Does she feel it too?

I don’t ask, though. Maybe because I know the answer, or maybe because I don’t want to know. Maybe words just don’t do the trick sometimes, and maybe this is one of those times. One of those times where walking along, her arm over my shoulder, and now my arm around her waist, says something that neither one of us is giving voice to. It’s all as clear as the sea on a bright and cold night. Which is to say, not clear at all, but damn pretty anyway.

When we get to the range, buried beneath the estate like an old mine, I can’t help but think it’s pretty too. Pretty in a utilitarian sense, which is no less pretty than any other kind, to me. It’s pretty because it goes on forever, almost, and pretty because I think of all the hours I spent at our shitty little range back South, and how much more I would’ve loved to have something like this. Of course, it’s not like I could’ve spent any more time practicing than what I did. And it’s not like I have any real desire to fire a gun right now. Not even to hold one. Not since that night, that night when the red swallowed me up. But if Asami’s willing to face her void, then I need to look into mine as well. And maybe we can paint ours together.

Asami makes her way over to a locker on the wall, and dials in a combination. The door flips open, and there’s enough firepower there to kill everyone in Republic City twice over, I’d say. She just grabs a pistol, though, a .22 like what I had before. She inspects it briefly, loads it, then walks over and hands it to me.

“Your bending is your big gun already, so there’s not much sense in you toting around a cannon. Not sure you’d like that anyway, even if I did think it was a good idea. But something small… might not be a bad idea.”

I take it, and it feels like a bad idea in my hand. Like a bad idea wrapped in cold metal, just enough to hide the burning anxiety it holds. I let out a breath. I’d held one, back at Sharks. Held one right up to a man’s head. Sure, it wasn’t loaded, and this is. And I wasn’t going to fire that, and I am going to fire this. There was an anger in me then that’s just not present now, but I figure that’s probably for the best. Fighting - much less shooting - when angry is a sure way to get yourself in all kinds of trouble. This is just practice. Clinical, dispassionate.

I nod to Asami. “Thanks.”

She raises an eyebrow. “For what? The gun?”

“No. For being there for me, that night. And being here now. I’m not saying I handled it well… but I am saying I’d have handled it a lot worse, if you weren’t around.”

“You wouldn’t have been there at all, if I weren’t around.”

“True enough. But I wanted the job, remember? You didn’t give me anything I wasn’t asking for.”

“Sure. But still... I had to help you then, and I have to help you now.”

“Have to?”

“Of course.” Asami smirks, and casually punches my shoulder. “I’m your ‘friend’, right? And that’s what ‘friends’ do. But again, I’m no expert on the subject. So there’s something else that I’ve been wondering about. When you had your tongue in my mouth… that seemed awfully friendly.”

I’m staring holes through the floor. Or trying to. “That’s not a question.”

Asami puts a finger on my chin, and tilts my head up. “Hmm. I guess it’s not.” She smiles, and kisses me, full on the lips. I close my eyes, and hold the moment, hold onto her. When our lips part, and we part, our eyes open in stereo. She winks once, the steps away, and makes her way over towards a record player up against the wall.

I raise a finger. “How are you going to-”

“Listen, given that I’ll have earplugs in?”

“Exactly.”

“I won’t have earplugs in. I’ll use these.” She holds up something that looks like the sort of ear covers you often see at firing ranges, but there’s a cord dangling off the back.

“And those are?”

“Another Varrick slash Zhu Li invention. Something of a prototype, really. Noise cancelling headphones, they’re called. Adapted from telephone operator tech. You plug this…” She takes one end of the cord, and inserts it into the wooden base of the record player. There's a hole there. Small, and I hadn’t noticed. “In here. Now, the sound comes out of the headphones, instead of the record player itself.”

“And that works?”

“It does. An earlier model had a nasty habit of shocking me pretty severely, but that kink’s been worked out. So I can stand in the lane nearest the wall, and listen to whatever I like. Or, as it happens, something I don’t like very much at all.”

“Sounds like something that could sell pretty well.”

“It does. But that’s not surprising, really. If you could only say one thing about Varrick, it’d be that he knows how to make money.” Asami laughs. “And if you could say a second thing, it’d be that he’s a weasley fucking bastard.”

I share that laugh with her, and briefly, it’s like our voices sync also.

She exhales, like she’s exhausted before firing a shot. “You’ve got lane five. Should be ammo there already. I’ve got your target set at twenty meters. That ok?”

“Sounds about right to me. I just need to get comfortable firing again, and an easy distance makes that… well, it makes it easier.”

“That’s the idea. I’ll be here, in lane one, if you need anything.”

I nod, and Asami settles the headphones on, and slides goggles on too. I make my way to my lane, and find a pair of each waiting for me as well. Of course, my ear covers are just that. Not attached to anything, and I won’t be hearing any trumpet mixed in with the muffled sounds of firing. That’s well enough, I suppose, so I put everything on.

Asami had checked my gun already, but habit dictates that I do it myself. And that’s not a habit you want to break. Trust anyone else - even if that someone else designed the damn gun you’re using - with your gun, and you’re trusting them with your life. But thinking that, the idea enters my mind that maybe I would trust Asami that much. That maybe I already have.

Still, I’m going through my routine, and it feels good. Not much has felt the same, since I got to Republic City. Not much has really allowed me to feel like myself. But this? This is what I do. What I have done, for hours at a time, for years at a time. This is me, from a time before all the blood, from a time before everything turned red.

And so when I set to firing, it feels right in a way that not much does. I feel the kick, feel my muscles absorb the blow, dissipate it. It’s a pressure that’s not even a pressure anymore, like a cook holding a hot pan with calloused hands. You do something enough, and it’s the easiest thing in the world. And shooting paper targets, made out to look vaguely human shaped, is the easiest thing in the world for me right now.

Pop, pop, pop. The rounds fire in rhythm, and find their place in sequence. I’m hitting my spots, and I’m starting to feel a little good, maybe. Reloading, and firing again. I only break to hit the button that bring a man out to change targets. When I do that - or when Asami does the same - the whole room turns red. Red, but not that kind. Because these targets, no matter what the outlines suggest, aren’t people. Maybe they’re meant to look that way, but when you shoot them, they just flutter the tiniest bit. They don’t have arms, grabbing at spilled guts, or hands, grasping for fragments of cracked skulls. They don’t do any of that. They just take the bullets, because they’re made to take bullets. People… well, I don’t know that anyone ever made people to do anything. But if there ever was a purpose, absorbing bullets sure isn’t it. From what I’ve seen, we’re pretty damn bad at it. And I’ve seen more than my fill already.

Thinking about all of that, and I don’t feel so good anymore. I don’t feel quite like myself. Or maybe I feel exactly like myself. Maybe I’m just different now, and this is me, forever. Maybe you never really get the blood off your hands, and so when you raise a gun to fire, you can’t help but see the consequences.

Still, I do fire. And fire and fire and fire. Because that’s what we’re here for. I fire until I’ve got enough torn up targets to fuel a bonfire, until I’ve lost count of the rounds I’ve spent. I’ve lost count, but I’ve also lost the rounds. No more extra ammo, and so I wait until I don’t hear any more firing from lane one… but I notice that it’s already gone silent. I wonder how long it’s been that way, and slide my ear covers off, and the goggles too.

I step out from my lane, and turn towards lane one. Asami is there, sitting right up against the wall. The headphones are on the floor beside her, and she’s holding that gun of hers in both hands, just staring right into it, like it’s a clear night sky, and you can just look forever.

I walk to her, and sit beside her. She puts her head on my shoulder, but her eyes don’t move. I take one of her hands, and slowly pull it away from the gun. I rest that hand, fingers intertwined with mine, on my leg, and rub her palm with my thumb.

“I hit the targets,” Asami says, but it still sounds like defeat.

I don’t know whether to congratulate her or apologize or both or what… so I just squeeze her hand, and say nothing.

She turns to me, and her eyes laced with red lines. Like they’re cracks, and she’s near to coming apart. “Might as well get this out too.”

I glance at the gun. I’d tell he she doesn’t have to, but I know she’d just say that she does. And maybe she’s right. So I just kiss her on the forehead, and smile.

“You don’t remember much, from when you’re six. That’s too young. You’re not really even a person yet, just the idea of one, still waiting to be formed. Or at least… I think that’s how it should be. I might not remember much, but what I do remember… it’s seared into my eyes, and I see it every night when I close them. Her body, already covered with bits of the collapsed roof. My father, there with her, but unable to do anything. He almost gets crushed himself, and so he runs. He has a mad look on his face as he goes past, and he doesn't stop, doesn't see me. I'm small, and hidden undeneath the smoke.

“I don’t know why I ran to her as he was running away, but I did. Maybe just because I could fit, I could weave through the burning boards, and come to her broken body. I could sit, and see her empty eyes staring back at me, the back of her head broken open, blood everywhere. I could sit in that blood, and so I did. I wanted to stay with her, to go wherever she was going. But I knew that was impossible. Some part of me already knew that.

“So I saw the gun - this gun - which I knew was hers, and I took it. Maybe I couldn’t go with her, but I could take something of her with me. My father had made it - Sama tells me, because she was there - back when her first learned what metalbending was. Scared the shit out of him, so he made a prototype. Of course, it turned out that metalbending was incredibly rare, and anyway, no one could afford a platinum gun. So he never made another, and gave this one to my mother, thinking she should have one anyway. Sama tells me she hated the idea, but I don’t know. I guess she took it anyway… and I guess… I guess it didn’t really matter.”

Asami swallows, and the cracks in her eyes are spreading. She’s not crying, I think only because she’s spent. A person only has so many tears.

“I kept it. I knew I shouldn’t… that I should give it to my father, or to the police. But when you’re six, well, you’re selfish. And I wanted it. Needed it. And maybe that’s right. Because it’s barely left my person since then. Even when I… when I was Minami. She had the gun too. It was her mother’s. The mother she never knew, so she carried it everywhere also.”

She had. I saw it, in the picture. She was posing with that gun… the gun Kuvira mentioned recognizing, on the back of that same photograph. I don’t say it, but-

“Of course… she had it in that picture. And Kuvira… she knew this gun. Even back at the shootout, thinking about it now… there was something like recognition on her face, when she saw it. Other things too, that I couldn’t place then, and I still can’t now.” Asami sighs, and shakes her head. “I don’t know, Blue. And I don’t like not knowing. But it could be that I like knowing even less, once I do. Can’t say. Just another big fucking maybe.”

“We’ve got a few too many of those. And sure enough, she… Kuvira… she’s likely to be tied up in all of them. The gun, the bullet, the Agni Kai, the song… fucking everything.”

“We can see about the bullet, at least.”

“You can. Don’t think I can be much help with that.”

Asami stands, and pulls me right up with her, since our fingers are locked together. She doesn’t make any effort to unwind them, and if anything, maybe holds a little tighter. “You’ll help, just by being there. Just by being present. That’s what you’ve been doing, and it’s been helping. More than I can tell you.”

I smile, trying to will the appearance of happiness to become true, to be more than a mask. And maybe to will a little bit of it into her as well. “I think you just did, Asami. Semantics, yeah?”

She does smile. Maybe just a little, but it’s something. “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that we're in deeper water, my chapters have gone from ~2000 words to ~3500. There's always just a little more to accomplish with each one. Makes writing a little tougher, and a little slower, but hopefully you don't mind.
> 
> Blue’s references to some ephemeral void may sound superficially of Nietzsche, but it’s really more Camus. “He must give the void its colors” is a quote - one of my all time favorites - on the absurdity of existence. That is, there is no objective meaning, no objective anything. Our life is what we make it. It’s taken from The Myth of Sisyphus, which is an absolute classic. 
> 
> Of course, Camus is probably better known as a novelist, due to his Nobel prize winning The Stranger. It features, perhaps, the greatest opening in the history of fiction: Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday; I can’t be sure.


	42. Chapter 42

I’m eating an apple and sipping coffee and watching Asami, hunched over a table, doing a thousand different things to this tiny little piece of metal, so contorted and distorted you wouldn’t even call it a bullet anymore.

But it was a bullet at one time. We know that much, at least. Though with the way things seem to work around here, I feel almost wrong even assuming that. I mean, it could just be a piece of metal Kuvira bent up to look like a bullet. She could give it all the necessary marks and residue also, and then we’d have this thing, and she’d have the actual bullet. Maybe by now she’d have time to take it to the police, and then the sirens will come, and all these walls will come crashing in.

But I’m going to assume it’s a bullet, and that it’s the bullet. The one taken from Suyin’s neck. It’s not so much that I’m sure as I need to convince myself. I need to believe that what Asami is doing will accomplish something, and that we can spin forward whatever she learns into helping… Kuvira, of all people. Helping Su, in that it might save her life. So that’s obvious. But Kuvira had asked for us to help her. That’s why Asami has this bullet to begin with. Not that Kuvira hadn’t hidden it, at least somewhat. But if she’d really wanted it safe? It would’ve been kept on her person.

No, she wanted Asami to have it. To have the bullet, so that she might save Su from whatever is tormenting her. And to have the photograph as well. Which, aside from being an additional layer to the plea for help, served to torment Asami. I’m biting down on the apple a little harder than I need to, thinking about that. She could’ve just been trying to explain previous motivations, why she acted so aggressively earlier. Or she could’ve been trying to pull something up from a well of sympathy. But I don’t know about either of those things. I think she was probably trying to do exactly what she did: Fuck with Asami.

It’s almost enough to make me want to return the favor, but I know better. I have a job to do - well, I have two jobs to do - and I’m going to do it. My job is to go with Asami and have this talk with Kuvira, and maybe we can work out something that won’t turn the entire city red. That’d be nice, and though I’m not exactly optimistic, I’ll at least entertain the idea. Which means I’m not going with any violent intent.

Still, I find my hand wandering to the gun at my side, the .22 I kept from the range. It’s holstered right on my leg, plain as anything, because we never did bother to change out of our sparring clothes. And so now Asami’s mixing in all sorts of chemicals and solvents and grease and whatever else with that sweat from earlier. Maybe I should think she looks a little disheveled, or somehow worse than normal, but I don’t. I don’t think that and to say that I did would be a rotten lie.

She still looks beautiful, because she couldn’t look any other way. When I first met her it was all projection, all seductive intent. It was a dessert tray wheeled right out in front of a starving person. But now that projection is gone - or at least, I’m not seeing it. No intent or purpose beyond the bullet, beyond the present. Her fingers are working and her eyes are darting this way and that, and her mouth is making small movements, miming speech but saying nothing.

And I’m here. Present. I’d offered to go get her food and coffee, but she just rang a bell and that solved that. I was able to convince her to eat just a little, and I didn’t need to convince myself much at all. But now I’m just watching. And if you believe her, helping. By doing just that, I’m helping. It’s the easiest thing in the world, though, what I’m doing. Sitting here, just looking at Asami Sato. I came to Republic City looking for exciting work, and I don’t know if this is exciting or not, but it’s the best work anyone could ever hope to get.

Asami bangs her head right down on the table, and sighs. It’s a long release, like some deeply held frustration is just flowing right out.

I put my hand on her shoulder. “You… ok?”

She looks up, and just rolls her eyes. “Maybe? I don’t know, exactly. I’ve tried every method I know to detect every poison I know of, and…” she sits up, and shrugs. “Nothing. There’s not a single damn trace of anything on or in this bullet. Not anything except the things you’d expect, I mean. It’s a bullet, and it was fired. All the signs are there. And there’s blood, which of course there should be. But…”

“No poison.”

“No.”

“You think… maybe Kuvira’s lying?”

“Do I think maybe Kuvira’s lying? Of course. But take the maybe out of it, and I just don’t know.”

“Can’t take the maybe out of anything, these days.”

Asami raises an eyebrow. “And now you’re playing word games with me. You catch on quick, Blue. Like water that just flows wherever a path opens up.”

“I get the feeling that’s how you survive, in this city.”

“It is. But… sometimes you have to make your own path. And sometimes, well… sometimes it doesn’t matter. If you think you’ve figured out how to survive in this city, a lot of people would pay a lot of money for that secret. But something tells me you’re not selling.”

“Because I don’t have it. Because no one does.”

Asami just smirks, and nods. The smile doesn’t last, though, as her eyes go back to the bullet. Funny, that such a little thing should be the cause of so much big trouble. Or at least, it had the potential to. Not that anyone would’ve been convicted, probably, but an investigation can turn up other things… give officers the chance to plant things, extort things… no, an investigation would not have been good for Hiroshi. Whether he pulled the trigger might not have mattered. But now none of those hypotheticals matter, because we have the bullet. Of course, the fact that we have the bullet might not end up mattering either. Not if Asami can’t figure something out.

“Asami?”

“Yes?”

“Can I see the bullet?”

She tilts her head a little, and hands it to me. Doesn’t seem to see why I’d want it, and truthfully, I don’t really know either. Maybe I just want to hold the thing she’s been spending so much time with.

And shit, it is messed up. That is the point of a hollow… well, a hollow point round. It flattens out on impact, and doesn’t come back out the other side. Adds to the stopping power. Or if it does exit, it makes for one messy wound. I never actually saw one, back South, but they showed us pictures. Not that we were in charge of forensics, but it always helps to know a little about what your coworkers are doing, if only so you don’t assume they’re totally useless.

“You said this was a prototype, yeah?”

“That’s what my father told me. The man who shot Su had been testing the rounds, and just left them in his gun when he went to the meeting. Stupid mistake.”

“What’s new about this one? Hollow point rounds are… well, they’re not common exactly. But they gave us a little training on them, back South. So they can’t be that rare up here. So this round has to have something that makes it unique. I mean, doesn’t it?”

“Aside from being a hypothetical poison dart slash bullet?”

“Yes. Aside from that. Because I think you’ve pretty well established that it’s not that.”

Asami sighs, and goes to shrug, but maybe can’t even muster the energy. “It honestly doesn’t have to be anything groundbreaking. Most innovations are incremental, not loud, sexy things. My father told me this new model just has a slightly different geometry.” She lifts a box up off the table. “Here. These are a few of the recovered rounds from the test firing. Nothing special.”

I take the box and open it, and sure enough, it’s full of hollow point rounds that look more or less like what you’d expect hollow point rounds to look like, once fired. Distorted from hitting the rubber backstops at the range, rather than flesh. And there’s no poison on them or in them, at first blush. And Asami looked way past first blush, and didn’t find any either. Of course, there could’ve been some applied to the round that found it’s way into Su’s neck, but Asami’s pretty well ruled out that possibility. I bounce the round that hit Su and the one that hit paper in each hand, toss them back and forth, and start to juggle them between a couple glasses of water, just bending them in an arc. The butler brought the waters with the coffee and the food, and since we never touched either glass - just drinking coffee instead - I figure this is the best use for them. Still, it’s a silly little thing. Stupid, but it makes Asami smile, and that’s worth something.

I find myself staring at her a little too long and a little too hard and in that lapse, my bending breaks. I hear a couple faint plops, as each round falls into the water. Asami laughs, and so do I.

“You know,” she says. “I’ve got some work I’ve been putting off, about catalytic converters, and… well, I don’t want to admit this is a dead end. But whether I admit it or not, it’s looking like one.”

“Do you think… maybe Kuvira poisoned her? And this is just a trap?”

“Could be. But if that was her aim… well, this is a circuitous route to take. No, I don’t think that’s what’s happening. But I don’t have any better ideas either.” Asami sighs, and throws up her hands. “You know, maybe I can just spend the rest of the afternoon on the catalytic convertor design.”

“And then we just tell her we found nothing?”

“It’d be the truth. So, sure. Or maybe…” Asami raises an eyebrow, and leans in. “We tell her you are a master bloodbender, and if she doesn’t surrender, you’ll tear out her heart or… something sinister.”

“Works for me. I’m sure she’ll be deathly afraid of Blue the Bloodbender.”

“Hmm. Not the worst nickname, but we can certainly improve on it. I’ll put that on my to-do list, right after the catalytic convertor.”

“And what is that, exactly? A car thing?”

Asami laughs. “Yes, it’s a car thing. A device to control emissions, in accordance with new standards that are coming down the pipe. Yes, pun intended. It’s going to be a mix of precious metals... probably cerium, manganese, rhodium, palladium, platinum, and-” Asami stands up from the table, so fast and with such force that her chair falls over. Her eyes are wide and she’s quivering. “Platinum. Fucking platinum.” She stares at the two glasses of water, and points. “Those were perfectly level when they arrived. I always notice things like that. Strange, but whatever. Neither of us took a single sip, and yet… look at them now.”

I do, and whether the water levels were identical before, they sure aren’t now. The one holding the bullet from Su’s neck is noticeably lower. Maybe only a few centimeters, but there’s no mistaking it. Like some of it is missing. Granted, bullets fragment end up in bodies. But not enough to account for this discrepancy.

"Do it again," Asami says. "Bend them out, then drop them in, right at the same time."

I pull each bullet up and out, careful to use the exact same amount of water, to keep them at the exact same distance form the surface. I hold, hold, then drop. One bullet - the one from Su, the one that had raised the water level slightly less - drops slower. Not much slower, but noticeable. Like there's something missing, and it weighs a little less. 

Asami holds the glasses of water up to her eyes, which are wild now, exuberant like a child with a new toy. “Kuvira bent the bullet out of Su… and yet Su’s still acting like something is in her neck. The note mentioned that specifically. She clutches at it every night. Even though you healed it. I saw with my own eyes, the flesh closing around the wound. Closing, around the platinum that’s still there.”

“But-”

“How? Why? I have a lot of questions too. And we’re going to ask my father each and every one of them, right now.”

\-----

Hiroshi’s office is the same as I remember, all tight, cramped and flustered. They say a person’s room can tell you something about their mind, and I wonder if that’s true for offices also. And I wonder what that says about Hiroshi, if it’s true. He’s got a lot going on, if nothing else.

Asami sets the two glasses of water on his desk with a thud, steps back, and crosses her arms.

Hiroshi takes off his glasses, rubs his nose, and sighs. “I’m not thirsty, Asami. But of course you’re not bringing me that to drink. So what is this about?”

“It’s about several things, actually. About the bullet you asked me to steal-”

“Which I told you to destroy. But I’m not having this talk with her here. Alone, or not at all.”

“This is as alone as I get now. She’s not leaving, and neither am I. And you did tell me destroy the bullet, but-”

“But you didn’t listen, did you?”

“No, it looked… off, somehow. And then Kuvira-”

“You spoke to her?”

“No. But she left a note.”

Hiroshi grits his teeth. “A note, Asami? Saying what?”

“Asking for my… my help, actually. With the bullet, and Su. She’s not getting better, which you know. Kuvira doesn’t know why, but I suspect you do, don’t you?”

“And the glasses of water…” Hiroshi waves his hands back and forth between them. “Oh, displacement. That's how you figured it out. Anyway, yes, the bullet Kuvira bent is missing ten percent of its original contents. Decreased in terms of both mass and volume.”

“Displacement, and Su's bullet sinks slower. Because ten percent of it is missing. The ten percent that was platinum, and is still in Su's neck. An alloy of your making. Care to tell me why?”

“Not hard to guess, I don’t think. Platinum bullets have their uses. You know this. We pay the coroner to lose the occasional bullet - and have, for a long time now - but then the Chief of Police - who we can’t pay anything - always comes in, looking for fragments, bending things the coroner might have missed. And they always miss things. It’s impossible not to. If the fragments are platinum, however, she finds nothing. And without a recovered bullet, they have a much harder time identifying the weapon used, and thus the person who did the killing. Of course, there’s also the matter of metalbenders being able to alter bullet trajectory. Platinum bullets solve that problem too. But-”

“But platinum bullets are damn expensive, so if you could get those same benefits for less cost, then you’d certainly rather.”

“Of course I would. I involved Saikhan in the design, and found that after five percent platinum content, he couldn’t bend the bullet at all. Still, I upped it to ten percent, just to be safe. Although he insisted he was at least as good as Chief Beifong, I’d heard the stories about Kuvira, and didn’t want to chance it.”

“But she was better even than you thought. Good enough to pull the other metals out, to somehow separate them from the platinum, and still hold the bullet’s shape, such as it was.”

“Seems impossible, doesn’t it?”

“I’d have said so. But apparently it’s not. And so there’s a little lump of platinum still in Suyin’s neck. The wound must be festering, to say nothing of the toxicity inherent in the metal. She’ll die from this, if we don’t say something.”

“Which is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Because you wanted Suyin to die? That was your plan all along?”

Hiroshi shakes his head, and waves his hands, like he’s brushing away the accusation. “No, no. I wanted that truce. And I didn’t want those bullets used, honestly. The testing has been going slower than I’d initially hoped, and anyway, I wouldn’t want to use a non-production bullet. If anyone can buy it, then anyone can fire it. But a prototype? That’s obvious. And stupid. However, now that it’s there… did Kuvira tell you of her plight? How the Beifong empire is threatening to come apart at the seams? It’d be foolish to offer them salvation.”

Asami slams both hands on the table, and the water jumps. She leans in close. “That doesn't justify you leaving me in the dark. So try again. Why didn't you tell me about this?”

“Because of… her.”

Asami straightens up from the table, and takes half a step back. “Kuvira.”

“Yes. I didn't want you to know, because I didn't want her to know.”

“Why... why would I tell her?”

Hiroshi sighs. “Did that note tell you of… other things?”

Asami nods.

“Well, when I first heard she was coming to Republic City, I was afraid of… that. Of what ended up happening at the end of that shootout. Of her looking at you the way she did.”

“Like she knew me.”

“Yes.”

“Which means… you knew? All this time? You’ve told me a thousand times of my months in Zaofu, and you never once mentioned her name.”

“Because you didn’t need to know, you-”

“That’s not your decision to make.” Asami jabs a finger at Hiroshi. “That was my life. And you hid it from me? For years? And now-”

“I did it to protect you. I didn’t want you to-”

“To what, father? You wanted me to languish in ignorance instead? Could that really be better?”

“Yes. All we love we lose, Asami. People are weaknesses, or leverage, or… worse. They can only hurt us, or be used to hurt us. I wanted to protect you from that.”

Asami’s fists are clenched, and her eyes are shaking. Her entire body looks near to convulsing. With rage, fear, and a thousand other deeper, darker, nameless things. “I’m telling her. About the bullet.”

“I knew you would.”

“You’re not even going to try to talk me out of it? To stop me?”

“No, Asami. I’ve learned better than that. Once you’ve set your mind on a thing, it’s as good as done. So it is, and so it will be with this as well. You’ll tell her about the platinum lodged in Suyin’s neck, and maybe she can be saved then. Maybe we can work out another peace, and move forward like none of this happened. Maybe.”

“But you don’t think so.”

“No, I don’t. She was shot, and though that was never the plan, it doesn’t change the fact that it happened. That makes a peace very unlikely. So if war is promised, I’d rather it be against a divided opponent.”

“But war isn’t promised. I… I don’t think so. Kuvira said-”

“And you believe anything she says?”

“Should I believe you instead?”

Hiroshi’s jaw clenches, and he swallows. He doesn’t speak, and silence fills the small room until it feels like we’re all going to suffocate in it.

Asami reaches into the glasses of water, and pulls out each bullet. “I didn’t think so.” She pockets both, grabs my hand, and turns to leave. We walk, and-

“Asami.”

She pauses, almost mid-step. She lowers her head, and says nothing.

“I… I’m sorry. I should have told you. But you understand, or at least you should. I was only trying to protect you.”

Asami shakes her head. “I remember sitting at a kitchen table, and you showing me a picture, shouting my name at me. That’s the first thing I remember, my first memory once I became Asami, again. That table… that kitchen… that house. Who did it belong to?”

“I think you know, Asami. And I’m sorry.”

Asami’s hand clenches, tight around mine. “I’m sorry too, father.”


	43. Chapter 43

Asami’s hand is tight around mine as we walk, her feet sounding out a nearly silent drumbeat of anxiety, like she’s marching in the only direction she can go, but the last one she’d choose. But there’s not a choice. Not for her, and not for me. She’s holding me, and I’m holding her, and we’re floating, flowing, going whichever way the current takes us. Right now we’re drifting towards skies of gunmetal grey, and it’s hard not to see the promise of a storm. So she’s holding tight, maybe thinking I can keep her up. But maybe not. Maybe just holding tight because I’m the only thing here, and desperation will give a person quite the grip. 

I wonder what the skies looked like in Zaofu that day. The day Hiroshi and his men came to claim his daughter, to recreate her from the bones of the person she’d become. Maybe the skies were the color of a dead sea, or maybe they were the brightest clearest blue. Blue like Asami’s eyes had been for those months when she wasn’t Asami, but Minami instead. The girl in the picture, the girl with the gun, the girl who Kuvira had lost. 

The girl who was all of those things, and also the reason Kuvira hated the Satos. I can’t help but wonder if she still does, if that hate is present tense rather than past. Past is prologue, anyway. So maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe past hatred never goes away, just seeps into a person and poisons them forever. Maybe once you hate, you can’t do anything else. Maybe she’s salted earth.

That’s all a mess to unpack, I know. Guessing at a person’s feelings and motivations is a fool’s errand, but I guess I’m a fool, because I can’t wonder about much else. I want to know - need to know - and yet I don’t even have a rooting interest. It’s like watching the races when you’re flat broke - no matter the winner, you don’t get a damn thing. So I don’t know how I want her to feel, or what would be best. If she’s full of hate then that’s a simple - but not easy - thing to deal with. Maybe she kills her or maybe she kills us. I can live with that. Or die with it, I guess. 

But If she’s got something else in her besides hate… then I don’t know what to do, or even what to think. That wouldn’t be so bad, except for the fact that I don’t think Asami would know what to do either. She’s used to opponents coming at her with bullets and blades, and this is different than both. If someone attacks you with your own past, a spectre that comes from somewhere deep inside your own mind, how do you defend against that?

Maybe you don’t, I figure. Maybe you just lose. Looking at Asami, I see a person who doesn’t lose. That’s what people say, and that’s what she herself has told me. But I don’t know. People say a lot of things and a lot of those things are damn lies. This, maybe, is one of them. Just another pillar erected to stabilize Asami’s reputation. I know it’s that at the very least, but I don’t know if it’s that entirely. I don’t know, and I suspect she doesn’t either. Because her eyes aren’t gazing towards a sure thing. They’re looking right on past the walls, and past the horizon too. Right on past everything, into the deepest darkest nothing. She’s looking into the void, and it’s looking into her. I wonder what it sees, but I don’t suspect it’d tell me.

Asami comes to a stop outside my door.

“Blue?”

“Yeah?”

“Clean up, and get some work clothes on, ok? Bring some of your vials, your flask, and your gun. We don’t want a war, but we sure as shit don’t want to be stuck fighting one with sticks and stones.”

I nod, because that’s true enough. “The only thing worse than fighting is losing, so we’d best prepare not to lose.”

Asami’s lips twist up, and it would be a smile any other time, but it just doesn’t look like one right now. “Well put. Just knock on my door when you’re ready. Any questions?”

“A thousand.”

“Any important enough that you feel a pressing need to ask them right this moment?”

“I’ll save them for the drive over. Going to a fight - well, maybe a fight - I’m guessing you’re driving a hardtop, just in case bullets come before or after. If I’m right, that means we’ll have a quiet car to talk in.”

Asami puts a hand on my shoulder, and gives it a moment’s squeeze, then quickly brushes it away. “Exactly right.” She turns to walk but stops before taking a step. “Blue… I know I keep saying this, but you really are catching on quick. I think… I think maybe we could do some good work together. Down the road.”

I swallow her words, and they taste sweet, because down the road means the future, means something beyond the present. But holding those words for just half a second longer, they start to taste bitter. Because once there’s hope for a future, that hope can be denied. Once you have a thing - even just an idea of it - you can lose it. So she’s handing me something and I’m reaching out and giving her something back, but where we’re going tonight - and if not tonight, then who knows how soon? - we could both lose it and everything else besides.

“I hope so,” is what I say. And it’s true. True beyond the shortness of the words, or the weakness in my voice as I say it. True, and as I watch her walk away, turning around a bend in the hall, I see her holding those words tight, protecting the fragile things. 

\-----

I don’t waste time fishing for the right outfit because I don’t know what the right outfit would be for something like this. I’m dressing for work, and just about everything in here is something Asami got me for work, so that means just about anything should do. 

I’m worried about too many other things to be worried about fashion, or even concealing the weapons I’m bringing. Kuvira knows I can bend, and she knows I’m going to bring water. Shit, she knows we’re meeting near the ocean. And while she could bend the cliff face right into the sea herself, I could do more than a little damage if given half a second. She knows, and so there’s no point in pretending otherwise. 

I’ll have weapons, and Asami will have weapons; and that’s fair enough, because Kuvira herself is a weapon. Even if she came alone, I’m not sure thirty men would be enough. Of course, she won’t come alone, and neither will we. I’m sure about that. Even when talks are peaceful there’s always the whisper of violence, ready to turn into a scream at a moment’s notice. And both sides figure to be ready for a shouting match, if it comes to that. 

And if it comes to that, then there’ll be too much red for any shade of blue I’m wearing to matter a lick. So I grab black denim pants, and a light blue v-neck t-shirt. I find a holster with plenty of ammo loops, and fill several with glass vials, all of them a grenade waiting for me to compel the water into exploding. I slip the .22 in as well. It feels cold in my hands, but I feel warm inside while touching it, fear and anxiety combusting. I stomp into heavy black boots, figuring that if the ground gets soaked with blood again, at least I’ll have thick soles to wade through it.

I take a deep breath, hold it for a moment - trying to fill it with all my persistent fears - and then exhale. The breath goes out of me, but takes nothing with it. Oh well. Worth a shot. 

I set the heavy boots to walking, searching out Asami. I think about her footsteps earlier, and think that mine right now are a much louder drumbeat, but playing the same sort of sad song. They thud, and maybe she hears me coming, because she comes out of her bedroom door just before I reach it. 

She’s wearing makeup, maybe a mask to hide her fears, or maybe to highlight them. Or maybe it’s just makeup, and it’s habit. Maybe you do the things you do, no matter what else is going on. To ground you, or just because. She’s dressed for work too, which I guess means she’s gone with a uniform, because I’ve seen this before. It’s the amber jodhpurs, covered almost to the knees by boots, with the asymmetrically buttoned jacket of a matching red and black. The collar is up. At her hip, plain as anything, is a gun. The gun. Her mother’s, and the one Kuvira knows. The one that could shoot her, if it comes to that. 

“Ready?” Asami asks.

“Could I say no?”

“Always. But you’d come anyway, wouldn’t you?”

I smirk. “Always.”

She flashes a matching grin. “Then let’s go. Right on down that road.”

\-----

The car is much the same as the convertible from before, only it’s not a convertible. The top is solid, and the windows look a little thicker than usual. Maybe you’d call them bulletproof, but that suggests a level of confidence that’s never a good idea. Put enough bullets in anything, and it breaks. Of course, we’re going to see someone who could pull this car apart as easy as you’d shuffle a deck of cards, so it probably doesn’t matter anyway. 

But it is quieter. You can say that much for it. The engine - still a V12, I think - seems almost to be roaring a little louder, trying to make its voice heard, like it’s offended to be stuck in a car that doesn’t give it a captive audience to sing to. 

Or maybe Asami’s just driving hard, pushing the accelerator, and pressing the car in and out of turns. Like she’s got a deathwish, but maybe that doesn’t matter either. I don’t think it really does right now, and so it doesn’t bother me.

“Asami?”

“Hmm?”

“What time is this meeting, exactly? You said the note you left her just said to meet at AS YS 6, and…”

She grins, diverting her eyes from the road for just half a second, in order to watch my figuring. “And?”

“So it’s at six, isn’t it?”

“That’s the idea.” 

“If she shows. Think she will?”

Asami just shrugs, and purses her lips.

“If she does… you know what that means, right? If she knew about that place, then she is… well, then she’s the ‘she’ who told the Agni Kai.”

“I have considered that.”

“And so if she shows, are we really going to talk, or are we just going straight to revenge?”

Asami shakes her head. “No… though that would be appropriate, wouldn’t it? I killed the Agni Kai for revenge, then they tried to kill me for the same reason, and now I could pass the attempt right along to her. But no, I’m not going to do that. Because that’s the thing about revenge: You keep killing, and it just perpetuates itself. Like a serpent eating its own tail. If it’s possible, I’d like to see if I can keep from devouring myself.”

“So this is really about peace, then? At least ideally.”

“Ideally? Yes. It depends, of course, on what she has in mind. But I’ll tell her about the bullet, and the guard who shot Suyin is one of the men in the cars behind us.”

“He have a name?”

“He does, yes. But I thought maybe it would be easier for you to take part in this if you didn’t know it.”

I open my mouth to protest, to say I could take it, but stop short. “Thanks.”

She waves it away. “Don’t mention it. Anyway, I’ll… present him, if you will, and she can have her trial.”

“And execution.”

“If that’s what she wants.”

“I’d bet she does.”

“So would I.”

I pause, and lick my lips. “Do you…”

“Do I remember her? Do I know her well enough to predict her actions?” Asami shakes her head. “No. No, but there is a… familiarity, about her. Like when you drive by a building in a town you’ve never been to, and yet you could swear you’ve been inside. A sense of sameness that defies what you know. Or in this case, what you think you know. Because there’s so much I don’t.”

I see Asami clench the steering wheel tight, until the veins in her hands sit like flooding rivers on the surface. I reach for the nearest one, and take it. Gently, slowly, I pull the hand away, until both of ours come to a rest between us. 

I smile at her and she smiles back, and we’re silent for a long time, watching the trees go by and then the ocean approach. We’re silent even though there are so many questions to ask, and so many statements to make. We’re silent because, although there are a thousand words to say, maybe we just can’t put them together the right way, and maybe that’s ok.

The road goes on and eventually I recognize it. We’re getting close, and I notice cars parked just off the side of the road every so often. At what appear to be regular intervals, after a while. Some of them are a forrest green and some of them are a deep and heavy crimson. It goes back and forth. Green, then red, then green, and so on. 

“Looks like she agreed to the terms,” Asami says, before I can ask. “They’ll radio if any police are on the way, or if an ambush looks likely. I imagine her people will do same.”

“So she’s here.” It’s not even a question now.

Still, Asami nods, confirming. “Looks that way.”

Our hands are held tighter now, and I’m not sure who initiated that. Asami smiles at me, and I smile back. We’re slowing, then stopping. Two red cars stop behind us, and four men exit each. All of them are carrying Sato submachine guns. One is marked to die, but I can’t spot him. I wonder how Kuvira will know, but I’m more worried about my own survival, honestly. 

Asami exhales, pulls her hand away, then steps out of the car. I do the same and follow her, then step right to her side. The route is familiar even though the footsteps aren’t exactly; because last time, she drove the motorcycle well into the trees. Maybe I can still see the tracks in the grass, now that I think of it. Maybe, but it doesn’t matter. We walk for less than a minute, but my heart is beating like I just hiked up a mountain with a full pack. I can see the end of the trees and then I can see the air opening up behind them. I can taste the ocean and I can feel it. We can almost speak to one another from here. The language of water, of flow, of-

She’s there. Sitting on the stone, surrounded by eight men. They’re all holding Varrick’s assault rifles. I figured they would be, but seeing it still remind me of the last time, of the Agni Kai - whose bodies are all gone now - of the red in the sky and the promise of death. I hear those same whispers now, looking at her. At Kuvira. Sitting on that rock, one leg crossed over the other, chewing on an apple just as I was earlier. She’s wearing khaki pants, tucked into black military boots, and a dark green sweater, buttoned up each breast, with a collar that goes halfway up her neck. Her eyes are bright and sharp, and her eyebrows are high, like this is all a joke she’s in the middle of telling, and the punchline is near to bursting from her. 

She reaches out with her right hand - the left is holding the apple - and points back and forth between the men. She stops on one, and her thumb raises. “Bang,” she whispers, and tosses the apple backwards. With that movement, a column of earth erupts from underneath the man, and flings him off the edge of the cliff. I hear screams for what seems like too long, and then they stop. I don’t hear the sound of his bones breaking on the rocks, but I know that they have. 

Asami doesn’t flinch, and neither do the man’s fellow soldiers. I suppose they all knew. Even still, I don’t know how you could just... well, I’d been still too. Maybe it was shock, or numbness, or something else. But my hand isn’t close to my gun, my vials, anything. I’m just standing next to Asami, like nothing happened. 

Kuvira stands up from the rock, flipping her braid back, and brushes off her pants. “The only one with a platinum suppressor,” she says, and I notice she’s looking at me now. “You were wondering how I knew, right?”

“The question had occurred to me.”

“Well,” she says, walking towards us now. “Now you have an answer. And it was a kind gesture, Asami.” She turns her eyes away from me, and locks them on Asami. “A real show of good faith. Bring only men with rudimentary weapons, to show that you don’t mean war. Of course…” She points to the gun on Asami’s waist. “You still brought that. Because you’ve always brought that everywhere, haven’t you, Asami? Or should I call you-”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Asami takes a step forward as well. “You’re speaking to Asami now. And you’ll adress me as such. This is a business meeting. Do try to be professional.”

Kuvira shrugs. She turns to her men, and waves a hand towards the trees. They make their way in that direction, taking measured, methodical steps. Asami does the same, and her men disappear into the trees as well. Standing watch, of course - as Kuvira’s must be - but not within earshot.

Kuvira looks at me again, and raises an eyebrow. She glances back at Asami. “Alone?”

“No,” says Asami. “She was present for every question, so she deserves to be present for the answers.”

Kuvira smirks. “Was she? That’s… interesting.” She clears her throat. “However, you owe me an answer first. What’s wrong with Suyin, and how do I fix it?”

Asami reaches in a pocket, and pulls out two bullets, each warped. “Bend these.”

Kuvira reaches out, and the metal seems to turn momentarily to liquid, to melt and then flow towards her, like it’s water and she’s mastered the current. She forms the bullets again in her hands, and they look the same as before. She holds them both up, and tilts her head. “Ok. Something was… off, about this one.” She raises her left hand. “Now what?”

Between her thumb and forefinger, Asami presents a tiny ball of lustrous metal. “This is what. What is left in my hand is the same thing that is left in Suyin’s neck.”

Whatever humor was painted on Kuvira’s face is washed away, replaced by shock, rage, and then simple disbelief. She tenses, and I’m reminded again of steel cables, taught as can be. “Platinum? So that was the difference. Why it felt… strange, bending that bullet.” She looks at the ground, and shakes her head. “I should have known, back then. I should have…”

“Sensed it? Like with the suppressor? Maybe, but the suppressor was pure. The bullet was only ten percent platinum, and all mixed up with other metals. Though I certainly can’t pretend to understand the totality of the bending experience, I’d guess that you were simply so focused on the ninety percent that you were bending, that you simply missed the ten percent that you weren’t. Given the circumstances, the pressure you must have been feeling, that’s understandable. Any odd feeling you might have noticed would have been swallowed up in your fear, or rationalized away as anxiety.”

Kuvira licks her lips, seeming to pause and savor the words. She closes her eyes, and exhales. “You’re right, of course. So, your father-”

“Did not intend this.”

Kuvira doesn’t speak, and doesn’t move.

“I assure you, Kuvira. You have my word that-”

“Your word is nothing.”

Asami shakes her head, and laughs softly. She shrugs. “Ok then. You have your answer. Suyin can have her surgery, and probably a full recovery. Now I have some questions for you. How-”

“You told me about this place. You said it was something else, something about two teenagers, an anniversary… something like that. Of course, I know better now. Now that I know what your name really is, and what those initials stand for.”

Now it’s Asami’s face that briefly flashes rage. I feel like mine does as well. That was the story Dai had told Mako. And that means… that means Kuvira did tell them. I feel my hand moving, gliding towards my water flask. It’d be the easiest thing, just to knock her right off this cliff. Surely she-

Asami’s hand is on my arm. “No,” she whispers. She turns her eyes to Kuvira. “Blue and I were attacked here by Agni Kai. Agni Kai, with those same rifles your men are carrying. They said a certain ‘she’ told them of this location. And now you’re telling me-”

“I didn’t sick any Agni Kai on you, Asami. If I were intent on killing you, I’d do it myself.”

Asami narrows her eyes, matching the threat. “Then who?”

“I can’t say. Honestly I… when you told me of that place…” Kuvira pauses, and swallows. “You were from Republic City, and you told me of a favorite spot - and of course, being forever detail oriented, even how to get there - a place to watch the sun sink into the ocean. You told me that maybe we could go one day… together. ‘A vacation. Just the two of us.’ Those were your words. I was excited. Thrilled. So I told my entire family, everyone I knew. So… I don’t know. It could be a hundred people. Maybe Opal. She was furious, after Suyin was shot. Or maybe Suyin herself. I can’t tell you who tipped off the Agni Kai, but I can tell you that I didn’t.” 

Asami’s mouth is hanging slightly open, and maybe trembling too. Her eyes are looking at Kuvira, and into her. Looking for answers, for pictures of a life she lived, and then lost. “Were we...”

“You know.”

Asami swallows. “Tell me.”

Kuvira shuffles her feet, and stares down at them for a moment. She looks up, eyes full to bursting with a thousand things. “You’re still pretending you don’t know me, Asami? You’re still-"

“I don’t remember anything about that time. I swear.”

Kuvira’s eyes sharpen to daggers. “Fine. I’ll spell it all out, let you keep your charade in front of... her.” She closes her eyes for a moment, and when she opens them, the daggers are sheathed. But I can almost feel them clawing at me. “It started as a nothing night at a nothing bar, in the seedy part of Zaofu. You were there, but... not you. The girl in the picture. Short hair, the most beautiful blue eyes… even your voice was different. Some guys were giving you some trouble, and you looked a little thin, to be honest, a little weak. I was about to intervene, but then you showed me you didn’t need the help. You fucked up all three in about ten seconds. I was impressed, and asked if you needed work. You said you did, and I told you I had just the kind of work for someone with your skills.

“Truthfully, it was good luck that I ran into you that night. Because as we were taking a walk outside the bar, I was attacked. Rival gangs were getting desperate around that time, right before we finished wiping them out. I pulled a gun, and you pulled a gun, and it was like magic, for those moments. The guns fired in perfect rhythm, and they all died so perfectly, and I thought everything was perfect… until I looked at you. You were on the ground, crawling around, mumbling something about blood and drowning and… I just didn’t know. But shit, you’d helped me, so I wasn’t about to just leave you there in the dirt. I took you home, and let you sleep it off. The next morning, you asked if you could still have that job. If maybe I could help you work through… whatever your problems were. I said yes, and-”

“And that was it?” Asami, sounding for all the world like she wishes the story did end there. But like some part of her knows that it doesn’t, that it goes far deeper.

Kuvira shakes her head. “No. No, that wasn’t it.” She laughs. “Not even close. We did work together, and I did help turn you into… well, what you are now, to be honest. But we were more than that, Asami. At least I thought so. But that was the lie. The one you told me, and I allowed myself to believe.”

“What lie?” The question comes from Asami’s lips cracked and broken.

Kuvira holds her eyes steady on Asami’s gaze, like they're tethered to each other, even as both sets begin to tremble. “That you loved me, Blue. That you would never leave. But you did, didn't you? You left, because that was the plan all along. And when I came home that day, I found the dead bodies left as bait, and four living gunmen, waiting to take advantage of me, while I drowned in sorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I'm so sorry guys I swear.


	44. Chapter 44

Kuvira’s eyes are sheathed daggers, a concealed threat. But her words cut me deep, tear open my skin and plunge into my stomach, my heart. They dig and they twist and they pull, and it hurts at first, the agony sweeping through me, followed by a wave of nausea. But then it’s nothing. I’m torn open and I’m empty. Spent. Numb. 

I’m staring down at the grass and it’s like I can see bits of myself laying there. Or bits of the girl I had begun to think of myself as. Blue, splayed out on the green. Somehow there’s no red that I can see, but I can almost taste it, the promise of blood thick in the air. 

I look at Kuvira, and I can feel again. Some mix of jealousy, rage, and hatred. A pure distillation of all those things, then combined, and it fills that emptiness in me with something hot. I set my eyes on her and there are no sheaths, no hiding the threat that they’re promising. 

I hate her because she’s hurting Asami, and I hate that she has the ability to do it. I hate that this past exists between them, and what that past means for me. Most of all, that’s what I hate. I hate that Asami has given her this weapon, and now she’s using it to rip us both to shreds.

Blue. The word rattles inside my head, beating and buzzing and I can’t get it out. It was a name, the only thing Asami had called me since we met. I’d thought it a cute little nothing at first, but then that Blue became the water that nourished my sprouting infatuation. It was a stupid thing to allow, but it wasn’t like I had a choice. When a seed gets rain, it grows. It doesn’t get to ask what the ground’s like up above, whether it’s going to get torn up or stomped out the second it dares climb up out of the earth. 

I hate that word now, and I’d tear my blue clothes off if I had anything underneath. I’d rip out my blue eyes if I knew I could replace them. Shit, maybe Asami can let me borrow some of those magic contact lenses of hers. Maybe I can disappear into someone else, become someone that isn’t standing on this fucking cliff right now.

I taste the bitterness in my mouth as I look at Asami. It tastes like being used. She was fixing herself, right? That’s what she’d said before. And I didn’t quite believe it, at the time. I couldn’t allow myself to. For some stupid reason I wanted to believe she saw something in me. And, well, she did. She saw a chance to fix some past mistake, to maybe rekindle a lost love-

The word blackens the bitterness in my mouth, and I want to spit it out. But it’s stuck, and I couldn’t get it out except to speak it, and that’s not a conversation I’m willing to have right now. Not one I really ever want to have. But sometimes the things you want to do the least are the things you need to do the most. It’s a bitch, but so is life. 

I’m staring at Asami, maybe even glaring, and I notice that her eyes are on mine. I don’t know how long they’ve been there, but they’re moist, trembling. Her lips form the shape of “I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” but there’s no sound. 

I want to tell her that I’m sorry too, for all of this, for everything. But I can’t find the words, even though I know right where to look. There’s just nothing there. Emptiness replaced by bitterness, and nothing I could say would make things better, so I say nothing. I try to force my lips into a grin, but they won’t budge. So I just nod once, a confirmation that yes, Asami, I know. I know you don’t remember. And I know you didn’t mean it. I know none of this was on purpose, that you didn’t mean to use me. But I also know that you did, and that it hurts. I know that’s irrational, but everything I was beginning to feel for you was itself irrational. So why shouldn’t this be the same? It’s not your fault, and it’s not my fault. It’s no one’s fault, really, but that doesn’t matter. This is just a broken world for broken people, and we never had a chance.

I imagine a voice in my head saying those words out loud, and I see her reacting to them, embracing me, telling me that we can try again, that her feelings were for me, not some ghost. “Korra,” she’ll say, and that warmth will grow inside of me, and maybe a new seed will be planted. I see that fantasy, but I see it as just that. 

Korra. That brings me back. Bring me back to the present, to this cliff, to the job at hand. Because, whatever else this might be, it’s a fucking job first. And I need to get to work. I open myself up, and let the bitterness drain out. Maybe Blue was mad, maybe she was hurt. But Korra’s just fine. 

I turn my eyes back to Kuvira. My empty eyes, drained of everything. And that’s right enough. If I’m going to examine the facts, see the truth, I can’t do it through a blue haze. When Asami lost herself, after the Last Dance Massacre, she traveled to Zaofu. She won’t know why, and probably no one does. She met Kuvira there. They were partners, in more than one sense of the word. Kuvira was head over heels, and told everyone about this girl. But Hiroshi found out about Asami, somehow. He went to get his daughter, but she killed seven of his men before he could pull Asami up out of the blue, using her name and that picture. When Kuvira got home, it must’ve looked like her lover had been killed, or stolen away. And then Kuvira herself was attacked. She got one surviving gunman to talk, and divulge his Sato affiliation. That set the ember of hatred burning inside of her. And then…

“Kuvira?” 

She turns to me, and beneath the moisture in her eyes, I can still make out the glint of cold steel. “What, Almost Blue?”

I feel a pang in my chest at that, but push it down into that empty space where the bitterness was. Lots of room there. “Why didn’t you act?”

“Excuse me?”

“You thought it was a Sato family hit, and yet you did nothing. Just sat back for five years, waiting until you happened to be in the neighborhood.”

Kuvira tilts her head, and smirks. “You think I didn’t want revenge, right then?”

I shrug. “I don’t know you.”

“Ask your girl. She’ll tell you all about me.”

“I don’t know you any better than she does, Kuvira.” Asami’s voice, regaining something like its usual strength and conviction.

Kuvira tilts her head in Asami’s direction. “Haven’t you lied to me enough?”

“Maybe I have. Maybe too much. But I’m not lying now. Not about this. Whatever we were… well, that wasn’t me. I don’t remember a damn thing about it.”

Kuvira’s eyes narrow. “You might want to be careful, Asami. Talk like that could insult a girl. Tell her you love her, then say she’s not even worth a flicker of a memory. Could get somebody mad, talking about them like that.” Her hands clasp into fists, and it’s impossible not to recall what those hands can do. What they did to a man, just minutes ago.

Asami just shakes her head. “I’m not trying to insult you, Kuvira. And if it’s worth anything, I am sorry.”

“It’s not worth the dirt you’re standing on.”

Asami begins to go taut as well, only her hands are open. All the better to grab a gun.

“Kuvira,” I interject. “You never really answered my question. So you did want revenge on the Sato family. What stopped you?”

“Suyin,” she says. But her eyes don’t leave Asami. “Suyin the pragmatist. Suyin, who sold out my dead love for an airship, a few hundred boxes of rifles, and inroads into Republic City - the very same leads and connections she used to set up what is now our burgeoning empire here. It was a brilliant business decision, I have to admit that. Contact Hirsohi, let him know that, if he wants to avoid a war, he better pay up. And he did. Smart man. It tore me to pieces, but what could I do? Go off on my own, and lose the only people I had left in my life?” Kuvira shakes her head. “No. I stayed, and I was a good, loyal soldier. I didn’t fight the Satos, because she told me not to fight the Satos. I didn’t chase revenge, because she told me that was a dead end.”

I glance at Asami and feel like she twitches just a little. Like the blood of the Agni Kai wells up out of the dirt for just half a moment, reminding her that revenge isn’t a dead end, it’s a loop. 

“So what are you chasing now?” asks Asami? “Is it finally revenge, or is it-”

“Reconciliation?” Kuvira smirks, and laughs. “No. The woman I loved is gone, Asami. Forever. You should know that better than anyone.”

“Reconciliation wasn’t going to be my suggestion. Not close, actually. Regardless, I didn’t mean-”

“Whether you’ll admit to intent or not, the result is the same.” 

Asami closes her eyes, and nods once. “You’re right. And I am sorry for that. Truly. Even if it’s worthless to you.”

“And it is.” 

“I can live with that. Whatever else this has turned into, it was - and remains - a business meeting. So-”

“So let’s get to business. I’ll send Baatar-”

“Who?”

Kuvira rolls her eyes, and exhales. “Of course, you ‘don’t remember.’ My fiance. Perhaps I’ll find time to introduce him to Asami Sato, properly. Though he did meet the old you, and he does know about you now.”

Asami raises an eyebrow. “So you did tell at least one person. I had wondered about that. You mentioned telling everyone who would listen about our… vacation plans, five years ago. But you didn’t know who I really was, then. It wasn’t until we fought side by side at the shootout, and you saw my gun, that you figured me out. Right?”

“Right.”

“Ok. When the Agni Kai ambushed, they specifically said that they knew Asami Sato would be at this spot. That she might be disguised. That I might have a waterbender with me.”

“So?”

“So, anyone who could have tipped them off must’ve been told that I was your… partner. Otherwise, how would they have connected this location to me? They couldn’t have, unless they figured me out right as you did. Which seems… unlikely. If we really were acquainted that well, and it took you so long…” Asami’s hand begins to drift towards her gun again. “Or… it was simply you that tipped them off.”

Kuvira doesn’t move. Not to attack, and not even to defend herself. “You really want to do that again, Asami? You want to press another gun to my head, and pretend you could pull the trigger? Frankly, I’d really rather we not waste the time. No matter what you say, some part of you must remember me. That part already knows the pain you’ve inflicted on me, and can’t stand to cause more.”

Asami’s hand pauses, brushes against her gun, then falls away. She clenches her jaw. “Don’t count on my mercy, Kuvira. Or my weakness. You’ll find both in shorter supply than you expect.”

Kuvira laughs. “Such tough talk.” She holds up her hands, palms forward and open. “But I’m not threatening you. And in any case, I think I know exactly what to expect from you. I practically built you, after all. And shit, although I’m no engineer, I still have the schematics pretty well memorized.” She drops her hands back to her side, and sighs. “But speaking of engineers, yes, I told Baatar about you, after the shootout. He, I’m sure, would have told no one else. But I also told Suyin. She, I imagine, might have told a thousand people, before departing for Zaofu. She had an audience every waking moment. So I’m afraid I can’t narrow your search.”

“Maybe not. But perhaps your fiance could. You’re sure he didn’t tell anyone, but I think I still need a little convincing.”

Kuvira’s feet grind across the grass, widening her stance. She pulls her elbows back and she’s stable, ready. “Now that sounds like a threat, Asami.”

“It isn’t.”

“I really hope you’re being honest about that.”

“I am. But you don’t trust me anyway. So what difference does it really make?”

“None at all. Because you’re not going to interrogate him. I wouldn’t stand for that under any circumstances, but tonight, there are circumstances. He’s leaving for Zaofu on the first train out of town, right after I get back. I’m telling him about the bullet in Suyin’s neck, and he’ll go make sure it gets taken care of.”

“That could seem suspicious. You shipping him out, right when I have questions.”

“It could. But I’m the one who should doubt you, Asami. You’re the one who-”

“I’m not lying to you. Not now. And… shit, I don’t know, maybe not then either. At least not in the way you seem to believe. You think that was all a setup? That I disguised myself just so we could kill you at a vulnerable moment? No, Kuvira, I don’t remember what I was doing then - I swear I don’t remember anything about it - but I know I wasn’t in on any plan. And I know that there was no plan. My father just came to get his daughter back. He didn’t want to lose me, and when I saw him… it was like waking up. I was Asami again. I didn’t know where I was, or what was happening. So I just left with him, when he asked.”

“No plan, Asami? Then explain why I was shot, while kneeling on the floor and sobbing.”

“I… I can’t. It must have been some kind of mistake. It was my father who came for me, and he’s not vindictive in any way. But I will ask him about it. And then I’ll tell you.”

Kuvira purses her lips. Her jaw works, like she’s chewing on the idea. “Fine. Tomorrow at noon. My place. You’ve already been, but do use the front entrance this time. They’ll let you up. And come alone - I mean fucking alone - not alone plus her. Right now, it looks to me like you’re lying to save face in front of your new fling. To make it sound like you’re not just grabbing some cheap imitation, and trying to recreate what we had. So, you want me to trust you? To move forward with nothing but amicable business between us?”

Asami pauses. “I do.”

“Then come without her.”

Asami nods, and I want to leap at her, grab her by the shoulders, and scream. I want to stare into her eyes and say she doesn’t need to do this, that she could be killed. But as I look into her eyes, I don’t see concern. Not even a trace. Either she’s sure of something I’m not, or she just doesn’t care what happens. She looks like someone with a job to do, and she’s resigned to do it. No matter what that means. 

I remind myself that I’m the same. My job is to be her bodyguard, yes, but that means I follow her orders. If she says I’m not coming, then I’m not coming. And anyway, if she’s gone for a bit, that could give me a chance to run by Sharks, and check up on my other job. My real job. See about those case files Chief was looking into. I find myself nodding as well.

The corner of Kuvira’s lip turns up, and her eyes look suddenly bright. She almost looks happy, and I think I liked it better when she had murder in her eyes. “Good, Asami-

Kuvira’s hands flash, but it’s a hasty, rushed movement. Nothing like what I saw her do in that basement, and certainly nothing like her mastery at the shootout. Like she missed her cue, and is dancing a little too fast, trying to catch up. She looks down, and there’s shock in her eyes, quickly replaced by some deep and violent passion. On her left shoulder, just above the heart, is a rapidly spreading patch of darkness.

Her hands move again, but it looks clumsy. Like her left arm isn’t working right. Which I figure it’s probably not. It feels like the back of my right leg is being bitten by something, and it’s all sticky and warm. And then it gives out completely, and it feels like nothing. I’m on the ground, rolling in grass that’s wet with my own blood, opening my water flask and grabbing for my gun.


	45. Chapter 45

A bullet is nothing really. Just a small piece of metal and some mechanism to get it going the right direction. I’d held one just a few hours ago, tossed the twisted remains around in my hand. Even though you know better, it’s hard to look at such a pathetic little mangled thing and think that it almost killed one of the most powerful women in the world. That its cousins and ancestors have killed millions and twisted the course of human history around and around, until it all became one big cycle of violence. Or more likely we did that to ourselves, and they were just the tools. I know the feeling.

Still, though it’s hard to imagine all that while holding a lumpy little bit of spent metal in your hand, it becomes pretty damn clear when there’s one lodged in your leg. Flesh ripped open, muscle torn, blood spilling out. Somehow the rest of the body knows, and somehow it starts firing things of its own. Everything seems slow, and I seem fast, like I’ve never really been lucid until now. Like everything before was some half awake dream, and this is life. Or maybe this is death.

But I know it’s life I’m clinging to when I feel the chill of a gun against my palm, and a swirling mass of water in the other hand. I see Asami - still standing, and apparently not hit - pointing her gun at the trees, firing, and for just half a moment, I wonder if Kuvira tried a little harder to keep her safe than she did me. If maybe some part of her hasn’t let go. If, hidden behind those green eyes, there’s still-

But I push that away, and set to firing myself. It’s a stupid thing to worry about at any time, and especially right now. So long as there’s a bullet in my leg, worrying about a bullshit ache in my chest is a waste. And anyway, Kuvira herself is hit. Above the heart, and a little to the left. She’d moved late, and it had come within a hand’s length of killing her. But it did miss, and she’s alive, left hand clutching at her spot, dark red slipping between her fingers. Her right hand is outstretched, aiming her revolver at the trees. I wonder if, at times like this - times when she’s hurt - she doesn’t wish for a lighter gun. But I figure she probably doesn’t have many times like this. Maybe not a single one since that day the blue in her sky started bleeding.

She steps forward, and brings her foot down. As it lands, a wall of earth jumps up amid the trees, walling off each faction from one another, just as they open fire. Guessed the men would notice Asami and her firing, our bleeding, and assume it was time for war. She guessed right, and right on time.

“The trees!” She shouts. “Shoot up into the fucking branches, not at each other. It’s a damn sniper.”

The guns turn up, and as one, they tear everything to pieces. Bits of leaves and branches fall like snow, fluttering to the ground. Slowly they descend, and it could almost be pretty if it weren’t for that death scream in the air, shouted out by a combined few hundred rounds a second. I spend my last round, and I don’t see that firing a .22 could’ve made a damn bit of difference. I was the smallest bit of ice in a hailstorm.

The guns go silent, and the bodies fall with the last shreds of leaves. Two of them, it looks like. Plain men in plain clothes, holding those airbender rifles. Like that night at the shootout. I can’t get a real good view though, because I can’t get myself vertical. Mostly because my right leg’s still numb, not working, and bleeding all over the place.

I try to sit up all the way, and I’m hit by a wave. It feels like my head’s swimming, and maybe that’s right. Maybe it feels like my head’s swimming, because the rest of me is too. Laying in grass again, airbender snipers dead around me, the blood welling up and surrounding me, pulling me down until it’s everything and everywhere. It’s a swirling current and yet it’s not really a current at all. It’s directionless, it’s chaos, and I want more than anything to be free of it, to fight my way to the surface, to-

But that’s looking at things the wrong way. That sea of red is a crushing weight, impossibly strong. You try to match that strength with strength of you own, and you get pulled down. So I don’t fight it, I flow. I lose track of my hands, lose the sensation of the gun and even the water in my other hand. I thought for a moment that I heard Asami shouting orders, but now that’s gone too. There’s nothing but blood all around, red everywhere, and I don’t mind. When the red is leaving you, it’s also coming in from everywhere else. Because everything is blood. Don’t know how I didn’t see that before. If everything is red, then you’re a part of everything. And that means you can’t bleed out, not really. Because there’s no ‘out’ to bleed into. I can see the non-pattern of that swirling non-current, that interconnectedness, that sameness, and it’s the simplest thing there ever was. Now that I see, I can’t imagine being blind to it. Now that I-

“Korra.” I feel a hand on my shoulder, then a hand on my leg, pressing up against some pain I had almost forgotten about. “Korra. You ok?”

It’s Asami, kneeling beside me, and I want to apologize for getting another set of her clothes dirty with my blood. Though looking at her pants, I can barely see a difference. They look fine, really, even though she’s down in that grass I was just busy watering. They’re just the right color that they don’t show it, and I wonder if that’s why she wears so much dark red. Makes sense, as bloody as her life is.

“It’s all right Asami,” I say. “I’m only bleeding.”

She pulls her hand away, and shows me a clean palm. “No, you’re really not. The ground’s plenty wet here, but the bullet must’ve just missed your femoral artery. Which is damn lucky, because you’d have a real gusher otherwise. You’d bleed until you were all emptied out, if it’d hit there.”

“I guess that is lucky. I kind of… lost myself for a second there. Before I could get the wound healed shut. And anyway, I think the bullet’s still in there, so that would’ve just presented it’s own problems.”

“Well, let’s see about getting that bullet out of you then.”  
Asami glances back and forth, until her eyes find Kuvira. She’s already made her way over to the trees, near where the bodies fell.

“Kuvira,” she shouts. But there’s no reaction. Not too eager to help me out, I guess. Asami stands, and glances down at me. “Hang on just a second, ok? I’ll bring her over, and we’ll get that bullet out.”

I shrug, and glance down at my leg. “Not going anywhere.”

Before she turns away, I think I see the corner of her lip raise just a bit, and maybe I’m a little glad to see that. Maybe she’ll smile for Korra and not just Blue. Maybe she was always smiling for her - for me - but I don’t know.

I lay down on my side, suddenly tired like I haven’t slept in a day. I feel a spreading moisture on the back of my leg again, and tilt my head to look. There’s that gusher Asami was talking about. It almost looks like it’s making up for lost time, spurting like it is. For just half a moment, I almost laugh, because it does looks a little strange, squirting like that. But by the next half moment, it’s not funny. I press my hands on the wound, trying to hold back the tide. But it’s seeping between my fingers, soaking through the surrounding denim. I wonder why the fuck it stopped before, and how I can get that lucky again.

But Asami’s back, with Kuvira - whose wound looks like it stopped bleeding on its own - so maybe I don’t need to worry about luck. I’ll just count on Kuvira to help me, which seems about like the least likely thing in the world. But then maybe she’s saved me once already. Maybe that bullet was headed for my spine - I know I was taught to aim for center mass when firing a rifle from a distance - and she diverted it. Of course, maybe it was going to miss altogether, and she diverted it the other direction. Don’t figure I should ask, right now, and I try not to wonder about it either. If she wants to kill me, she’ll have an easy enough time, whether I’m thinking about it or not.

Asami notices the blood flowing between my fingers, and jumps to the ground beside me. She pushes my hands away, replaces them with hers. “Just relax,” she says. And I don’t really have the energy to do much else, right now.

She nods to Kuvira, and slowly pulls her hands away. With a quick motion - this time, fluid and without surprise - Kuvira pulls the little bit of metal from my leg. It’s a small thing, as they always are. But it’s taken enough of my blood that, right now, it’s the biggest thing in my whole damn world.

The blood comes faster now, and I feel that wave hit me again, threaten to pull me under. I wonder if maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Whatever’s down there, it stopped the bleeding before. But Asami’s here now, holding me up. And that’s not so bad either. If she’s holding me up, then I don’t need any strength for that myself, and I can just pull the water from my flask, let it spin in my hand, then lower it onto the wound.

I close my eyes, and all the anxiety is gone. Gone like the bullet, bent away and dissolved into nothing. Everything is blue, but not Blue. Everything is peace, comfort, healing, flow. I find the current and it finds me, and we go on together, down and towards the only possible destination. I don’t feel the flesh come back together, or the blood resume it’s normal course. I don’t feel any of that because I don’t feel anything at all.

When I feel again, that’s how I know it’s time. When I’m aware of the water, it’s cool chill on my hands, I know. When I feel the breeze and smell the sea, I’m sure. I open my eyes and let the water go, and flex my leg, bending it back and forth at the knee.

Asami stands, and offers me her hand. I take it, and she pulls me up. I try to take a few uneasy steps, then find my stride. My leg’s working again, good as new - or better, probably, since it feels pretty broken in - but my mind feels like it’s a step behind. I felt before like I hadn’t slept in a day, but now it feels like double that. My eyelids are so damn heavy.

With me up, and looking like surviving, Asami turns her attention to Kuvira. “Don’t suppose either of the snipers are still alive?”

“There’s more of their brains on the ground than left in their skulls. No, they’re both pretty far gone.”

“Fucking suicide mission. Two of them?”

“That we know of.” Kuvira shrugs. “Could be more. But shit, like I told your father last time, airbenders are a rare breed, and those who can - and are willing to - handle one of their rifles are more rare still. So I’m a little surprised there were two more left in the whole Republic, with all we killed before. Probably cost a fortune. Supply, demand, that whole thing. Don’t suppose you’d know anyone who might pay something like that, to do a job like this?”

Asami tilts her head and narrows her eyes. “Are we doing this again? Really? Why would I-”

“Hire someone to shoot me? I can think of a few reasons you might.”

“They shot Korra too, don’t forget. I wouldn’t hire someone to do that.”

“Oh, I didn’t forget. But maybe Almost Blue there’s your sacrifice.”

Asami’s lip twitches, like she’s got a mouthful of curses, but they’re all jumbled up, so none get out.

Kuvira grins. “Don’t like that? Truth hurts, doesn’t it?” She clears her throat, and glances at me. “What are those words? Oh, right. _Almost all the things your eyes once promised, I see in hers too_.” It comes out half sung, and her voice winds its way inside me. Even without effort, it’s affecting. I should hate it, but there’s beauty there, and that’s a hard thing to hate. But her lips twist into a cruel grin, and her eyes unsheath, and it gets pretty damn easy. “Maybe you would kill her, if it meant killing me. Make it look like a random attack from some rogue snipers. But that’s bullshit, and we both know it. They don’t work for free, and I don’t think they were here for the sunset.”

I see Asami’s jaw move, and I can see her mind working behind her eyes. Trying to fight through that blue fog Kuvira’s put in her. She’s thinking of Saikhan, probably. The man who tipped off the Triads the last time, and brought the airbending snipers down on us. But this couldn’t be him. Not nearly enough to be gained by it, considering how bad it would be if we survived. He’d be the first suspect, and probably killed pretty damn fast. Well, pretty damn slow, if Asami had her way. Might still go that way.

Asami shakes her head. “No… I didn’t bring Korra to be a sacrifice. That’s… not what she’s for. And I didn’t tell anyone, so-”

“Not even your father?”

“He knew we were going to meet, but not the location.”

“See, now I’m not so sure about that. Maybe you told him, maybe not. But maybe he’d guess on his own. He’d sure like me dead, and I doubt he’s too attached to Almost-”

“I’m not a fucking song, Kuvira.” That anger sets fire to something inside me, and it’s fuel now, burning up all my fatigue. I step towards her, and raise my right hand, pointing one finger at her forehead. I raise the thumb, and whisper “Bang.”

She raises an eyebrow, and laughs. “What the fuck is-”

“It’s the gesture you made before you tossed that guy off the cliff. The same gesture one of your men made at me, a little while back. Out for a drive, a green car pulled up beside me. They had a message, threatening something about making war in ‘less direct’ ways. And then he pointed his finger, and said ‘bang’. I might say hiring snipers would qualify as some ‘less direct’ kind of war.”

Kuvira’s grin grows. “Are you shitting me? I'm not telling any of my men to make threats on you. If they do that on their own, and use my name, what can I do? And you think I hired a couple snipers, and told them to take their first shot at my heart? That’s a fucking brilliant plan, Almost. I could-”

“You could leverage that fact. You can bend bullets, so you could’ve controlled right where you got shot. And of course, if you got hit, we wouldn’t suspect you ordered all this.”

Kuvira’s lips flatten out, and her eyes harden. “And then?”

“You earn trust, you-”

“I fuck around, and then eventually kill you all, is that it?”

“It’s-”

“It’s fucking idiotic, is what it is. If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead. Right now. No fucking around first. At least, not like you’re thinking. But I could take a metal rod, and skullfuck those blue eyes right out the back of your head.” She rolls her shoulders, and leans her head in. “And there is some part of me that might enjoy that. Ruining your blue eyes. Or maybe I should say your Almo-”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Kuvira.” Asami, with hard eyes of her own. “We’ll have plenty of time to argue about who killed who, and why. And then to debate the finer points of how we might kill each other. If that’s what you want to do tomorrow, then fuck it, that’s fine. But before that, I’ll talk to my father, and I’ll have an answer for you. About whatever happened in Zaofu. Shit, I’ve got plenty of questions myself. And you, look into that Agni Kai business. Find out everyone who talked to Suyin, before you shipped her off. Hospitals keep visitation logs, so that should be easy enough. We’ll sort that out, and if, at the end, either of feels aggrieved, then we can stop making threats and just get to the killing. That’s how I’d prefer to do things. Sound good to you?”

Kuvira smiles, and her eyebrows raise. Her eyes are bright again, and just like the last time, I miss the burning darkness. “Sounds perfect to me,” she says. “I do hope you’re convincing. Or maybe I hope you’re not. Either way is fine, really. I guess that’s why it’s so perfect.” She nods once, turns towards the trees, and takes a step.

“Kuvira.” Asami, before she can take the second.

Kuvira clasps her hands behind her back, and doesn’t turn. “Yes?”

“Is your shoulder ok? Maybe Korra could-” She glances down at me. “If you’ve got the energy, that is. I know how much healing Suyin took out of you, but she was right at death’s door. You-”

“I’ve got someone. The only healer who Suyin said made her feel just a little better. Only briefly, as it turns out. But still better than anyone else did by far. Noa… something? I don’t remember his name exactly. But I’ve got the information down somewhere.”

Asami shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

“I always do.” Kuvira lets out one sharp whistle, twirls her finger in a circle, then points it towards the cars. Just like Asami did on that rooftop. Right outside Kuvira’s place.

I see Asami’s right hand flinch, like it was going to do the same exact thing. Then there’s recognition in her eyes, then something washes that away, and it’s empty. She just walks, and I walk beside her. All the soldiers on both sides are scanning the trees the whole way, but I just can’t bother. The lead might be taken out of me, but my legs feel full of it. And so does the rest of me, really. It’s heavy slogging, all the way to the car.

I slouch deep down into the passenger seat, and let out a sigh.

Asami starts the car, and grips the steering wheel tight with both hands.

“Korra, I’m-”

“No.”

“No?”

“You’ve never taken any of my sorries, so I’m not taking yours.”

“So it… doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course it does.”

“Then why-”

“You remember telling me that the present should never be jealous of the past?”

“While drinking the Green River. Yes.”

“And all that shit about being in the present, and that’s it? Not worrying about what anything is, what we are, or where we’re going? Just floating, right?”

“Right.”

“Because that’s really all we can do.”

She nods.

“Then you don’t get to say sorry for where the currents take us.”

The corner of Asami’s lip rises just a little. “It still hurts though. Having so much of my past pulled up out of me. I could almost feel the tearing.”

I nod. “It hurt me too. I won’t lie about that. But that pain… it’s not the worst thing. You told me you were nothing but dead tissue once, just scars. But if there’s pain, then there’s still something left alive.”

Asami’s jaw clenches, and she swallows. She hits the gas, nodding slowly, and we’re going back down that road. “Not the worst thing,” she whispers, as I let heavy lids submerge my blue eyes in darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an oddly subtle chapter, in some ways, given that there is a lot of shooting. But important things happen in the quieter moments. 
> 
> This is a very short little story, told from Kuvira's POV, talking about 'that day'. It makes me feel a little bad for her.  
> http://beech27.tumblr.com/post/112647228270/flash-rcb-universe-fiction-kuvira-reminisces


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I never meant to make this required reading, but now it basically is. So please, read this other thing, if you haven't already. It's that Kuvira POV short, about her getting noodles for her Blue. This chapter works soooo much better, with this in mind.  
> http://beech27.tumblr.com/post/112647228270/flash-rcb-universe-fiction-kuvira-reminisces

The room comes slowly into focus as my eyes open, lids still heavy, like the weight of sleep is still pressing down on them. I open them as wide as possible, then squeeze them tight, and stretch my limbs out as far as they can go. The bed is soft, smooth, and comfortable. Maybe if I stretch myself out enough, I can just dissolve into it. Just disappear from all of this, from everything. Well, not everything. Maybe I could take Asami with me.

My foot bumps something, and I pull it back quickly. I’m still solid, then. And still here. 

“It’s fine,” says Asami.

I open my eyes, and see that she’s there, sitting on the corner of my bed. She’s dressed already, in black denim and her leather jacket, with a high collared red shirt protruding. She’s sipping coffee, one leg folded over the other, staring at the wall, as if that white space might have answers written there in invisible ink. I remember hearing about something like that once, back South. Or maybe that was a mover. Can’t say I remember, and can’t say it matters much. Because there aren’t any answers, at least not here.

I push myself up in bed, and wipe the sleep from my eyes. As I come up from under the covers, I notice that I’m changed. Changed, like I was after that first night we were fired at by airbender snipers. And changed into the same things. It’d been Asami then - at least I think it was - and I wonder if she’s done the same thing again. I fell asleep in the car both times… did she carry me? Could she, even? She’s lithe, but strong enough that maybe she could. But she’s got a whole village of helpers here, so no. No reason for that. And no reason for her to change me out of those bloody clothes either, and into fresh ones. Plenty of people to do that also. And no reason why I should still be worrying about this. There’s no one to do it for me, but still. No one needs to bother.

She took care of me, like Kuvira took care of her. Just repeating the cycle. And now that she sees it, maybe she’s all too happy to step outside.

I sigh, and Asami turns towards me. She manages half a grin, but maybe even that’s too generous. Her lips make the shape, but it’s not a happy thing. Our eyes hold, and still I try to humor her, to grin. Maybe she sees mine and realizes that hers must look just as false, because her smile sinks away, and her head drops. 

“I know you said-”

“Asami.”

“What?”

“You were going to say you’re sorry again. Don’t.”

She lets out the start of a laugh, and just shakes her head. “But it’s the truth. And I’m not just saying it to you. I’m saying it to the whole damn universe. Though to be clear, I am saying it to you, right now. What Kuvira said about us… I saw the parallels, and I’m sure you did to. They’re bright lines, impossible to miss. Bright blue lines… and about that-”

“Asami. I mean it.”

“I didn’t know. I just saw your eyes, and they were stunning, and so-”

“Blue. No, I get it. Makes sense. It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

I shrug. “It’s as fine as anything gets. We covered this. Did it bother me? Yes. But like I said last night, we can’t change any of that. We can just move forward with the currents. So, I’m staying. I keep working for you, and maybe we get all this figured out, maybe not. But I’m here.”

Asami turns to me, and raises an eyebrow. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but... of course you are. You’re in. There is no out.”

I meet her eyes. “Hard to take a death threat the wrong way.” 

“That wasn’t-”

“Don’t bullshit me, Asami. Yes it was.”

“Sorry. And yes, I do get to be sorry about that. I didn’t mean it. It’s just… talking like that, it’s a bit of a reflex, at this point. What I mean is that… I don’t want you gone.”

“Hard to replace an employee like me?”

“You were more than that, Korra.”

I tilt my head down, and turn it away. But not far enough. There’s no such thing, without pulling the covers up over my head, and hiding. She says it like I don’t know. Like I wasn’t thinking it too. Like when she talked about going down that road, my heart didn’t skip a beat, thinking of what might be over that horizon. But now my heart feels like stopping altogether, because she said ‘were’. Which means I’m not part of her present, and not part of her future. 

Which is fine. It really is. That’s not what I was sent here to do, anyway. My job is to work for her. Learn things. Use them to take her down. But now that I’m here, I can’t make myself think that way, no matter how many times I insist. The words appear in my mind, and as quickly they vanish. Meaningless. Every statement I make, any way I try to tell myself I didn’t feel something - and that I still don’t - just gets washed away. I tell myself to flow, but all currents lead back to that conclusion. Lead back to that ache in my chest. I want to be here for her, to just float on together, to keep our heads above the waves. I want that, but I just don’t see a beach for us to wash up on. Nothing but sharp rocks, waiting for our bodies to get dashed against them.

But still… that’s what I wanted to hear, wasn’t it? After Kuvira tore me up, the only thing I’d wanted was for Asami to call me Korra, say that it was me all along that she was falling for, say that she felt the same way, and that she still did. This is everything I’d hoped for… only cut in half. Because it’s all gone now. All past. Maybe she felt that way once. 

But what she thinks of me now… I don’t know. I know what I want, but I know I shouldn’t want it. It’s a cup full of poison, and no matter how good it tastes, how parched I might be, it kills you in the end. And so I’m sitting here, and I don’t take a drink. I don’t say anything.

“I talked to my father,” Asami says, filling the silence I left.

I rub my eyes again. “How… oh. What time is it?”

“Eleven.”

“Right. I guess you would’ve had plenty of time. What’d he say?”

“That it was a mistake, what they did to her. To Kuvira. He’d left those four men behind to clean up the mess, and maybe she surprised them, maybe she scared them, or maybe they thought to overachieve, really get in good with Hiroshi Sato. We can’t ask them why, because she killed them all. And the last one alive didn’t tell her anything other than my father’s name, apparently.”

“So that’s what you’re going to tell her?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t think that’s a little… sparse? Convenient? Won’t she just think you’re covering for your father? What if she doesn’t believe you? What if-”

“All of your ‘what if’s’ almost certainly end in her killing me.”

“Just like that? You’re resigned to it?”

“Wouldn’t make a difference either way. I have to go. If she wants to kill me, it won’t matter whether I accept the fact or not. She’ll do it.”

“But you’re-”

“Asami Fucking Sato?” She laughs, and it’s bitter. “I win by controlling the game. The board, the pieces, everything. I’m going to her place. Alone. If she wanted, she could bring the entire building down around us. Everything is in her favor.”

“You didn’t have to agree to those terms.”

“Maybe not. But… I don’t think she’d have agreed to any location I suggested. That cliff was my idea, and we were almost killed. Because apparently airbenders just grow on trees now, or show up wherever the fuck we’re attempting to iron out something like a peace agreement. If that weren’t enough, there’s that whole matter of Minami… her… whatever that is. She thinks I betrayed her, and left her for dead. She’s not going to trust me. So until she does - if she ever does - I’ll have to meet on her terms. If I want to meet at all.”

“And you do want that.”

“Maybe ‘want’ isn’t the right word. I need to do it. It’s business. Right now, she’s in charge of the Beifong Syndicate. So if I want to avoid war with them, I have to speak with her. I have to convince her that my father didn’t try to kill her before - and that I certainly didn’t - and that we’re not trying to kill her - or Suyin - now. That’s a tall order, but... war between our families... it’d be fucking chaos, total and absolute. That’d be bad for business. Shit, that’d be bad for everyone and everything in this city. So if I can avoid it, I have to try. Even if that means meeting her alone.”

I lick my lips, and bite down. “Do you think, maybe…”

Asami tilts her head.

I rub the back of my neck, close my eyes. “No. It’s… nevermind. Stupid. Sorry.”

Asami exhales. “Do I think that maybe she’s inviting me over for… other reasons? That she’s interested in something more than a business relationship?”

I nod, then quickly shake my head. “But, I mean… it’s not my business. It’s just that… sending her fiance away, asking you over right at noon, insisting you be alone… that kind of sounds like a lunch date.”

“Korra, I seriously doubt that is her intent.”

“But if it is?”

“Then that’s fine. I’m flattered, but not interested. Better than her trying to murder me, at least.” 

“But-”

“Korra.”

“Yes?”

“You said, last night, that you weren’t going to be jealous of the past.”

“You’re going to see in her in less than an hour. That’s very near future. And anyway, past is prologue, right? The things that have happened determine the things that will.”

Asami smiles, and it’s equal measures pride and irritation. “Semantics again. You’re getting uncomfortably good at that. Regardless, that doesn’t apply here.”

“But you-”

“No. I didn’t. That wasn’t me. Kuvira and I… we don’t have a past. So we don’t have a future. There’s no prologue, and no story to come.”

“She might argue that.”

“I don’t think so. She said it pretty plain: The woman she loved is dead. I stole her away, maybe even killed her. But I’m not her.”

“Then why did her eyes light up when you accepted her invitation? Why did she look at you like that?”

Asami bites her lip. “You noticed that too?”

“Of course I did. Might as well have been a fucking neon sign.”

“I thought maybe that was just some residual memory, something only I’d notice. Something Minami would’ve recognized, and it’s still left in a corner of my mind, still taking up space in a dusty filing cabinet. Didn’t think you’d notice it too.”

“Well, I did. And if your guesses at her motivations are based on dusty old memories from another self… how can you pretend to know what she wants? What she’s thinking?”

Asami shrugs. “Maybe that’s exactly what I’m doing. Maybe I’m just pretending. Maybe she’s happy because she thinks something might spark between us. Maybe she’s happy because she’s going to torture and kill me. Maybe she’s happy because we told her how to save Suyin’s life, and gave her a promise of peace and order. I don’t know. You’re right about that. But that’s just another reason I have to go. Because I need to find out.”

I swing my legs out of bed, and stand. I’m dizzy for a moment, and it’s a hard reminder of the toll for bending like I did, last night. I move between Asami and the door, and I think this must look really stupid. Like I’m going to stop her. Or at least try. She smiles, and maybe the air that escapes her mouth is the beginning of a laugh. I don’t know.

Asami stands, and sighs. “Changed your mind about letting me go?”

“It’s stupid. You said so yourself, she could kill you. Or she could… just let me come-”

“That’s not the deal. You know that.”

“Then change the fucking deal.”

Asami takes a step forward, and puts her hands on my shoulders. “We both know I can’t do that. And I can’t promise you I’ll be fine. But I can promise you that, if I am, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Asami… how? And… you know what? Nevermind how. You don’t have to do that. You don’t have to do anything.”

“I know. But I want to. I understand how this must look to you. That I’m just repeating a cycle, plugging you into a role, trying to make up for something lost. And maybe… maybe at the beginning that was it. Just automated action, like the beat of a heart. But… I know it wasn’t long. I know that. But I felt something. And that wasn’t automatic. It was the kind of thing to make your heart skip a beat. And the way you’re acting, I think you felt it too. I think… maybe it’s still there. For both of us. So I don’t want you to be jealous of the past, because I want to take another shot at the present. With you. With Korra. So I was thinking… maybe we could just try again. Get noodles, again. Only since you’re so tired, I was thinking I’d just get takeout. We can have our second first date. If you want.”

I swallow, and stare at the floor. I see that cup of poison, and it’s the most appetizing thing there ever was. My mouth is watering, and my mind is racing. I look up at her, and she’s beautiful. As ever, but more so. Because what she said… it’s beyond what I could have hoped. I let myself get lost in her eyes, green like springtime, like rebirth, like a second chance. And that’s right enough. I lift the cup, and drink it down. It tastes so sweet. 

“I do want that,” I say.

Asami smiles, and nods once. She reaches in her jacket, and pulls out her mother’s gun. “Here,” she says, pressing it into my hands.

“Asami, I…”

“I need Kuvira to trust me. If I bring a gun that she can’t bend, loaded with bullets she can’t bend, that’s not sending the right message. So I’m going without. While I’m gone, guard it like you’d guard me. Ok?”

I squeeze the gun, and squeeze her hands. “It’ll be here when you get back.”

Asami leans in, and her lips brush against my forehead. Soft and quick, like a breeze. And like a breeze, she passes quickly. As she leaves, her voice carries the words back to me, “I know. I trust you.”

I stand, staring into the gun until her bootsteps fade into nothing. I stand after that, staring into my reflection. I’ll take the gun with me, and I’ll take her trust too. I’ll keep them both safe, while I go to Sharks. Because I can’t keep her safe, not where she’s going.


	47. Chapter 47

I’m walking down the hallway, thinking my boots sound about like Asami’s did. Like our steps have somehow synced up, even though I know that can’t be right. Still, I’m dressed more like her than my past self, black denim pants with matching boots, and a high collared blue - rather than red - shirt. I’d like to cut the sleeves off sometimes, but I figure this isn’t really the best opportunity. So the long sleeves stay, even though I find them a little warm, a little stifling. 

It’s not the strangest thing I’m wearing, in any case. That title goes to the gun, or the pair of guns. At one time, I’d spent more hours with one on my hip or in my hand that without. And yet that familiarity vanished in just a few days. Funny how that works. I’m navigating these halls like I’ve got a map now, maybe not synced up with Asami’s footsteps exactly, but following them close enough. I’m headed towards the garage, and I know just how to do that. But ask me to walk one of my old beats, back South? Not sure my feet could find their way, at first. Maybe they’d remember, but it would take time.

But I’ve never carried two handguns at once, and certainly not one made of platinum. I wonder how much the damn thing costs - it is a one of a kind prototype, I remember Asami saying. So here I’ve got the only all platinum gun in the world, and yet its value goes past the metal it’s made of. Because to Asami - even setting her wealth aside - that has nothing to do with anything. This gun matters to her, because it was her mother’s once. Even if her mother never really wanted it, according to Sama, she did have it. And that night, she held it, and never squeezed off a shot. That according to Dai. It fell to the floor as she died, and a young Asami risked fire and a collapsing roof to get it. A lot of people have a lot to say about this gun, seems like. 

But I’m not looking to make it a point of conversation. Not looking to share a single word about it, or even indulge one glance from one person. So it’s holstered up against my thigh, and I made sure to get loose fitting enough pants that it wouldn’t show. If people know I’m armed, that’s fine. But nobody can know I’ve got this. 

Making my way across the lawn, and down the pavement towards the garage, I hear the clang of metal, and what I think is the slam of a hood. I come through the door, and see Sama packing up tools, standing over a blue Satomobile. My blue Satomobile. I wonder if I should just call the car Blue now. I sure as shit don’t want the name. But I figure it might not either, knowing the history, and the implications. Blue seems to be a name you give someone with a second identity you don’t know about, someone who might turn on you. And I need to trust my car. Of course, Asami needs to trust me too. She said she does, and I’m carrying that trust with me. Not in a holster, and not in a pocket, because that’s no way to hold a thing like that. I’ve got it packed away in my chest, and it feels warm. 

Sama nods as she sees me approach. “Changed your oil, tuned some things. Should run better than ever.”

I smile, and return the nod. “Thanks.”

“Not going with Asami? She just took off herself.”

“No. I’ve got a different assignment today.”

Sama grins, shakes her head, and moves the tools out of the way. “I know better than to ask. No one ever tells me anything, and I like it that way. I’ll be seeing you later, and do keep the car safe.”

“It’s about the nicest thing I’ve ever had to my name. No worries there.”

I hop in, feel the smooth leather; then start it, and hear the engine come to life. I can’t imagine anyone having something much nicer to their name, no matter what that name is. Because unless your last name’s Sato, you’re not driving something with this engine. Or unless you’re me. And though that’s not my last name, I’m in. Asami said it herself. Driving out the garage, and out the gate, I remember what she also said: That there’s no out either.

\-----

I don’t figure Sharks as much of a lunch spot, so I’m not surprised that the place is basically empty. Still, there are a few folks here, playing pool, and drinking things that aren’t water right out in the open. I think that being a front for a police operation probably has its advantages, with things like that. Not likely to get busted. Of course, I don’t figure there are many busts going on these days. Not that I know for sure, but based on what I do know about the Republic City Police force… well, it doesn’t seem likely they’d do anything to hurt the Sato family business. 

I have to laugh at that a little. Because - though unofficially - I’m on that force, and a part of that business. Trying to take the whole family down. But that’s a mess to think about, honestly. Taking down the business would be one thing. Taking down the family… another. I wonder why I couldn’t just ask Asami to leave. Maybe not even with me, but I wouldn’t say no if she were inclined to bring me along. Just take all of her money, leave this city, this business, this cycle of violence. Just get up and go. Because I feel like she could, if she wanted to. Who would stop Asami Fucking Sato? Her father, I think. Or her obligation to him, to her last remaining family. So in that way, she’d stop herself. 

I hear conversation downstairs, and something that might be the roar of flame. Lighting another cigarette, I think. I head down towards the bar, just to let Mako know I’m here, and to check about those case files I wanted to see. 

He nods a hello as I enter, and holds up a hand to the three men at the bar. “Be right back.” He comes around the side, and starts walking right back up the steps.

“Something to show me?” I ask.

“Chief managed to get some of what you wanted. Not every evidence locker’s worth, obviously, but enough to give you some background. Maybe useful, maybe not. In any case, it’s in your room. Take a little time reading over everything, because Chief wants to talk to you, while you’re here.”

“Figured she would. I’ve got some things for her. Some… pretty heavy things, actually.”

Mako stops, and raises an eyebrow. His mouth moves, then stops. “You know… nevermind. Save it for her.”

I smirk. “That was the plan.”

“I figured. But, regardless, there is something I need to tell you.”

“What’s that?”

“A few firebenders have been coming around here… and I don’t know that they know who I am, or what I did… but I don’t know that they don’t. If you catch my meaning.”

“I do. You think there’s a little more to the Agni Kai vengeance project than just those you met.”

“I think it’s possible. And so I think maybe I should skip town for a while. Chief agrees.”

“And this place?”

“Well, if I’m gone, and Bolin’s… busy, then there’s not much to do besides shut down for a bit. Which means you won’t have an easy way to meet with Chief. It’s not ideal, but that’s how it has to be. So whatever heavy stuff you have to tell her… make sure to unload it today. Otherwise you could be carrying it around for a while.”

I think about Saikhan, the bullet in Su’s neck, and just nod. Metalbenders both, and so maybe it’s right that this is all so weighty.

Mako pats me on the shoulder. “So… maybe this is goodbye? I don’t know. Could be. In any case, good luck. Hope you don’t need it, but-”

“But you know damn well I might. You know firsthand the kind of shit I can stumble into. Thanks for getting me out of that last pile. For saving my life. And sorry for almost stabbing you in the face, right after.”

He shrugs. “People have done worse to me for less.”

“Still.” 

I extend my hand, and he takes it, giving one firm shake. 

“I’ll call Chief,” he says.

“Thanks.”

I head down towards the living space, and he turns, heading the other way. 

\-----

There are folders on my bed, laid out like I’m back in school, and this is a lazy afternoon devoted to homework. Of course, I always did feel that way about the desk side of the police business. Sitting down and sorting through evidence was never my idea of a good time; I wanted to act on that information. Shit, I wanted to act, period. Whether there was much information or not. Well, I’m not wanting for action here lately. I’ve been shot at a few times, hit once, and done my share of firing back. Of killing, even. 

Even thinking that word, I can feel the red rising up in my room. But I can push it down now. Maybe it gets easier, after a while. But I’m not sure what that says about a person, when it does get that way. I don’t really know where I’m headed or even where I want to go - I’m really just floating - but I don’t want to end up the kind of person that could kill someone, and not get a little sick about it. 

I don’t figure looking through these files will make me feel much better. One set is about a single murder, the other a mass slaughter. I figure I’ll just jump right in, and start reading up on the Last Dance Massacre.

It’s funny - well, not funny exactly - that I know all of this already. The thought is inescapable as I leaf through statements from people who happened to be near the club, read reports on the evidence gathered, everything. There were gunshots, and shells everywhere. Thousands and thousands of rounds fired, all from a Sato submachine gun. Nothing special about that. It was a hot new model then, and anyone with a mind set to killing a group would make that choice. The knife wounds were on many throats as well. There’s some supposition that this implied the shooter either ran out of ammunition, or maybe had a personal motive. And that’s right enough. No one names Asami, but probably more than a few are thinking it. 

Maybe they’d have liked to talk to her; I don’t know. But she wouldn’t have been around anyway. And no one would’ve seen her for quite a little while. And though there weren’t any surviving witnesses - other than Dai, who apparently hadn't gone to the police - had there been, they wouldn’t have pointed to Asami. Had they told the truth, their truth would’ve only served to confirm a lie. They’d have sent the police looking for Minami, rather than Asami. And she was off in Zaofu by then, and probably would’ve been damn hard to find. And in any case, she’s long gone now. Long dead, really. 

Of course, it’s the least mysterious unsolved case there is, which makes it all very strange. Everyone knows Asami did it. Shit, her father set to building her reputation on that fact, the moment he recovered his daughter from Minami’s shadow. And she’s done nothing but embellish it since. It’s become quite the weapon, and it’s not one the police can turn against her. Because though everyone knows it, no one can prove it. Of course, I’m not entirely sure they ever really wanted to. If a syndicate - or even one member thereof - wants to wipe out another syndicate? You wouldn’t get Chief to admit to it, but I bet she wouldn’t mind. It’s the crossfire that bothers her, the potential for collateral damage. Asami - or Minami, or whoever - was nice enough to leave a contained mess of blood, that no one drowned in but her. 

I push all that aside, and settle into pouring over the papers concerning Yasuko Sato’s murder. Because that’s what it was, according to Dai. And he should know. He put bullets in her chest, and watched her bleed out on the floor of her bedroom. And he saw Hiroshi run and hide in a safe room, rather than do anything about it. Not that I love any notion that man has to protect ‘his’ woman, but dying by her side would at least be a nice gesture. If you’re going to die at all. Of course, Hiroshi didn’t. Didn’t even take a bullet. He’s just lived on to dispense thousands of his own, take the empire the Agni Kai once had, and multiply it. He lost a wife, but gained an awful lot.

I try to check over everything in something like chronological order. Examine all the police records they’ve got here, regarding the Sato family, and their estate. I notice a curious thing, a couple weeks before the murder. There’s a phone call made to the police, for an unspecified complaint or issue. Saikhan is dispatched to handle whatever it is. He files a report, saying Yasuko made the call, and saw shadows skulking around the perimeter of the estate. He checked, called in a few other officers, and saw nothing. He did suggest that maybe it could be syndicate related, however. He advised Hiroshi to increase the security, and it was agreed that he’d do just that. 

But I have to wonder how tight that security could’ve been, and not for the first time. There’s a big fence now, and there was one then, it looks like. And the lawn couldn’t have been any smaller, I think. And then confirm that no, it was as massive. Any invading force should’ve had a hard time even getting in, and once they did, they should’ve been seen. If any security at all was paying attention. 

And according the security guards themselves, they were paying attention. Those who survived. Most didn’t. Because however much attention they were paying, the Agni Kai found a hole in the perimeter, then spread quickly from there. They killed everyone who didn’t retreat inside, and then killed most of those too, soon enough. So it wasn’t a lack of security either. The Sato’s had numbers, they just didn’t seem too ready. Or at least, they weren’t focused on the right spots. 

Once the Agni Kai got in the mansion itself, it seems they headed mostly right for the master bedroom, where Hiroshi and Yasuko both were. Not too much wandering around. Saikhan suggests something like the opposite conclusion, however. That this is all random destruction, maybe. Or perhaps intimidation, based on Yasuko’s reputation as an anti-syndicate philanthropist. I remember talking to Mako about this night, and he thought maybe it was intimidation of a different variety. He said Hiroshi was already dipping his feet in the underworld’s dark water, by this point, and maybe the Agni Kai were trying to push him away. Regardless, it’s Saikhan's voice repeated here. His opinion is expressed in numerous places, because his fingerprints are all over this case. Which makes sense, I gather, after searching around further, because he’s the officer in charge of the entire investigation.

I pause, and swallow. Or I try to, but I find myself choking on the implications. Saikhan’s a Sato man, and has been for a long time. He worked this case, which I knew already. But still. He worked it in a way that directly implicated the Agni Kai from the start. And I knew that already too. But still. I think back to what he said about having things he could show Asami… things that might implicate Hiroshi. I think about his political ambitions, and how he nearly tore Republic City apart - and still might - with them. I think about all of that, and it’s damn hard to believe anything he says. 

Still, I move forward, like the Agni Kai did. Working their way towards the bedroom, until they reached it. We get Hiroshi’s statement here, which is that he stood guard with a Sato submachine gun of his own. And sure enough, there are shell casings all over the floor, right by the bed, right by where he would’ve been firing. But I think back to what Dai said, about Hiroshi fleeing, and putting up no fight at all. About him not firing a shot. I weigh the stories, and I feel like my scale is broken. 

There’s a picture of Yasuko’s body, and it’s all I can do to stop myself from vomiting. The picture is from the scene itself, and she is well and truly broken. Torn up by bullets, charred by flame, and crushed by a collapsing ceiling. Those shots that tore through her chest opened up gaping wounds in her back. And that’s what the first picture is of. She’s laying face down, and the back of her head is cracked all the way open, with a few pieces of heavy timber laid across it. There are skull fragments and bits of everything else laying all about, and I just flip the picture over, and push it away. I do the same with the others. 

I inhale deep, close my eyes. I stand up off of the bed, and pace the room. I don’t know how long I do this for exactly. But it’s a while, and I need it to be. 

I return, and set to reading over evidence. That, I can take. Even if I know what all resulted. I come to the discussion of Yasuko’s body, and the report. It’s as Dai said, regarding the rounds to the chest. And as Chief said, the coroner also makes note of blunt force trauma to the head. They found a few shards of wood, but nothing else. Chief herself had been involved here, bending every fragment of leftover bullet from her body, getting everything the coroner couldn’t. It’s hard not to see the picture, just reading those words. But I fight the image down, and set that away.

I come back to the room, and the scene around Yasuko’s body. As expected, there’s significant fire damage. But I’m not expecting them to find a single casing, which they did. Just brass, plain as anything. There’s speculation that maybe Yasuko had a gun, and that she got off one shot in defense. But they didn’t find a gun. When they asked the survivors - including Asami - they all denied having taken anything. Asami was being comforted by Chief at this time, I remember. A blanket over her shoulders, and not searched, so far as I can tell. The next day, when she and her things were searched, they found nothing. They talk about looters next, who apparently took a lot from the mansion before the police could arrive. They don’t note what kind of gun Yasuko might have had, but it’s presumed stolen. If it ever existed. But my hand drifts to my leg, and finds the real reason for their empty search. And my mind drifts to Dai, who stood in that doorway. Dai, who insisted that Yasuko didn’t fire a single shot. That she held the gun - the very same on pressed against my leg - and didn’t pull the trigger. 

I lay back, and I dig down under my waistband, pulling the gun up. The gun that both Hiroshi and Saikhan had recognized. I remember their faces at those moments, masks of shock and fear. Even in the low light, it’s lustrous, like a calm sea surface on a dark night. I remove the clip, and pull out a round. Brass casing, and the bullet itself is platinum. That, I knew. Asami had told me as much. Had told me the obvious purpose behind having platinum bullets too. Metalbenders couldn’t deflect them in a fight, nor could they find the fragments of them when assisting in an autopsy. Provided the coroner is paid off - which Asami said the Sato family had done for years - and told to lose the bullet itself before the metalbender is involved… 

Chief wouldn’t find a single bit of shrapnel. Nothing to suggest that a headshot might have been a headshot. It could’ve been anything, really, provided there was some other trauma to the area. Something like a ceiling collapse to crush the wound, and then fire to mask the powder burns. 

I stare at the wall, and it feels like my mouth is full of cotton. I try to swallow, but it’s all too much.

I think back to what Asami had told me. Her memories, as she approached that room. She’d seen her father standing over her dead mother, and assumed he was trying to pull her out from under the boards. That he was trying to rescue her. As the collapse intensified, he ran. He ran with a mad look on his face, she said. Right on past. Maybe he was blinded by the fire or the smoke. She was small then, and would’ve been underneath that bitter cloud. Or he could’ve been blinded by something darker than that. Whatever the reason, he hadn’t stopped, and hadn’t seen Asami. And Asami had ran too, but the other direction. There she found her mother, and by her side, the gun she never fired… and yet was fired once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Chapter 41, when Asami talks about getting the gun (so you don't have to click around, if you don't want to):
> 
> “You don’t remember much, from when you’re six. That’s too young. You’re not really even a person yet, just the idea of one, still waiting to be formed. Or at least… I think that’s how it should be. I might not remember much, but what I do remember… it’s seared into my eyes, and I see it every night when I close them. Her body, already covered with bits of the collapsed roof. My father, there with her, but unable to do anything. He almost gets crushed himself, and so he runs. He has a mad look on his face as he goes past, and he doesn't stop, doesn't see me. I'm small, and hidden underneath the smoke.
> 
> “I don’t know why I ran to her as he was running away, but I did. Maybe just because I could fit, I could weave through the burning boards, and come to her broken body. I could sit, and see her empty eyes staring back at me, the back of her head broken open, blood everywhere. I could sit in that blood, and so I did. I wanted to stay with her, to go wherever she was going. But I knew that was impossible. Some part of me already knew that.
> 
> “So I saw the gun - this gun - which I knew was hers, and I took it. Maybe I couldn’t go with her, but I could take something of her with me. My father had made it - Sama tells me, because she was there - back when her first learned what metalbending was. Scared the shit out of him, so he made a prototype. Of course, it turned out that metalbending was incredibly rare, and anyway, no one could afford a platinum gun. So he never made another, and gave this one to my mother, thinking she should have one anyway. Sama tells me she hated the idea, but I don’t know. I guess she took it anyway… and I guess… I guess it didn’t really matter.”
> 
> “I kept it. I knew I shouldn’t… that I should give it to my father, or to the police. But when you’re six, well, you’re selfish. And I wanted it. Needed it. And maybe that’s right. Because it’s barely left my person since then. Even when I… when I was Minami. She had the gun too. It was her mother’s. The mother she never knew, so she carried it everywhere also.”


	48. Chapter 48

The gun in my hands opens up like a void, black like a starless night. It’s an absence and a looming presence both. It denies everything about the reality Asami knows, warps her entire life into a lie, dissolves it into utter non-existence. And it creates a new world at the same time, filling that space. One that’s darker still, and ever more red. Red, from the very beginning. Red, always and forever. 

I wonder what that first call to the police was about. Maybe Yasuko had found something, and called the cops. And she just happened to get the wrong cop visiting. Whatever she told him… he twisted it into a story that the Agni Kai were planning something, really establishing motive. And then they did lure the Agni Kai, and let them in. At some weak point in the perimeter, they broke through without a fight. And then killed before a real fight could even begin. But they didn’t kill Yasuko. Their one specific mark, and yet she lived. Right up until her husband noticed, then noticed the gun by her side. He put a bullet in her head, then crushed it. Maybe some of the roof hit him, during the collapse, and he dropped the gun. Maybe he left it, and figured the right cop would pick it up. Of course, neither one happened. 

Asami found the gun, but not the truth. And so her whole life has been built on this lie. That revenge that shaped her, that tortured her and then even ended her once… that should’ve been aimed at her father. That same father who wouldn’t let her escape, even after that. Though it burns me to think it, maybe she was happy in Zaofu. With… her. Maybe that would’ve been a better life. They were killers still, but at least she didn’t have those memories. When she closed her eyes as Minami, I don’t think she saw Yasuko’s broken body. But that’s the mover Asami sees every night. Hiroshi took that from her as well. Because he wanted his daughter - no, his weapon - back. And he has it. Has her. 

I’m pacing the room, and it’s all I can do not to fling the gun right at the wall. I wonder if Chief is home. Mako said he’d call her, and it’s been a bit. I lost track of time, reading over everything. And lost even more, just staring into the gleaming metal of that gun. But it’s been two hours. I wonder how Asami’s doing, and I wonder what Asami’s doing. I wonder what she’s thinking, right now, and know it can’t be right. She’s thinking something based on her old world; and that world’s been swallowed right up. It’s vanished into nothing, and she doesn’t even know it yet.

I go to the closet, to check on the door. It’s locked shut, and no amount of jostling or bumping up against it will move things. I bend some water from a flask, let it fill the keyhole, then freeze it solid. I turn the makeshift key, and the knob, but the door doesn’t open. Barred shut, then. And bumping up against it… it doesn’t sound hollow on the other side. Sounds like there’s earth piled up there in addition to the bar. Sounds like the tunnel’s filled in. Which… Chief could do that. Of course she could, and of course she would. No Chief, no tunnel. 

Still, I’m back at pacing, hoping she gets here quick. Chief had asked me to get her something good, something big, and this is the biggest damn thing there could ever be. Or at least, it’s close. This is the gun Hiroshi used to shoot his wife in the head, when the Agni Kai he tipped off failed to get the job done. He killed her, destroyed them, then built his empire in that void. 

And Asami. What he did to her-

There’s a rumble on the other side of the door, then the scraping of metal against metal. The door creaks in protest for a moment, and then yields. Chief saunters through, and this all feels a little backwards. Mako said she never came to visit anyone, for any reason. It always had to be the other way. But here she is, a visitor. But not the pleasant kind, if the look on her face is any indication.

“Sit,” she says, pointing at the bed.

I do, still holding the gun. She doesn’t seem to notice anything special about it. “Chief, this-”

“My sister can’t bend a fucking paperclip. You want to tell me why that is?”

Her sister? Just a week ago, Chief wouldn’t acknowledge anything close to that level of relation. I guess trauma has a way of bringing people together. I pause, and purse my lips. Her gaze is hard to meet, right now. Looks like she’s accusing me of something. And maybe she is. “Asami and I told Kuvira-”

“You told her what? And before me?”

“I’m getting to what I told her. Give me a second. Ok?”

Chief takes a deep breath, and releases it. “Fine. But I know her reputation-”

“People aren’t their reputation.”

“Right. Sometimes they’re much worse.”

“And sometimes they’re not so bad.”

“And which is she?”

“I…” I want to say that I hate her, because of how she’s hurt Asami. And I want to say that I hate her, because at one time, she healed her. It’s a sick, selfish thing, but there it is. And anyway, I don’t know. Maybe she’s threatened to kill me… maybe she did send the Agni Kai after Asami… and maybe she’s killing Asami right now. I don’t know, and I can’t. And anyway, that hate… hate’s got nothing to do with it. Whether she’s bad or not. I think maybe I’d hate her either way.

“That’s about what I figured,” says Chief.

I just shrug, and it’s a weak thing. A jacket wouldn’t fall off my shoulder, with that movement. “Anyway... we did tell her, because we had to meet about… things. And I’m just now getting a chance to see you. It’s been hectic, since that shootout.”

“You don’t have to tell me that. We’ve already got little skirmishes, here and there. Whether it’s officially a war or not… well, doesn’t matter much. Or at all. That’s why it took me a bit, getting over here. But that’s not important. Well, it is. But not right now. You were saying.”

“Right, about your sister. She was shot in the neck-”

“I know.”

I tilt my head, and hold the silence for a moment. I wait for her to apologize for interrupting, but that quickly looks like a seed that won’t grow. “The bullet was ten percent platinum. When Kuvira tried to bend the bullet out, that much was left behind. So when I healed the wound shut, that metal stayed put. And it’s poisoning her now. I don’t know how that would take away her bending, but, maybe if it was really bad...”

Chief’s hand drifts to her chin, and her head bobs back and forth. “What size was the bullet?”

“Nine millimeter.”

Her eyes dart back and forth across the ceiling. “Hollow point?”

“Yes, but… how-”

“You get platinum down close to point-two millimeters thickness, and x-rays go right through it. And some people say x-rays have a harder time with metalbenders anyway, but the tests on that are really inconclusive. Anyway, ten percent of nine already gets you under one millimeter, then when you consider the flattening a hollow point round would incur, fragmentation…”

“It probably wouldn’t show.”

“And nothing did.”

“And of course… you wouldn’t have sensed anything either, if you tried to bend.”

“Correct.”

“So… Kuvira mentioned-”

“I noticed how you phrased that, by the way.”

“Phrased what?”

“You said ‘she was shot in the neck’. Not a mention of who did the shooting. Or on whose orders. Last time, you told me you didn’t know who shot her. But that Hiroshi didn’t. Seems like you know a lot more now. Care to tell me if you’ve learned the identity of our shooter?”

I hear his scream, as Kuvira tossed him from the cliff. And I hear the silence that followed, as his body broke on the rocks. “I… sort of.”

Chief crosses her arms. “Sort of?”

“I didn’t know his name. Asami didn’t tell me. Just that he was one of Hiroshi’s guards-”

“Hiro-”

“One of Hiroshi’s guards, who fired when he wasn’t supposed to. Hiroshi didn’t give an order. That’s what he told Asami, but I… Kuvira killed him, by the way. The guard. His body’s probably in pieces, all washed out to sea, or eaten by the things that live there. So you can’t talk to him about it.” My words fall away, just like he did. My eyes drop too, drifting to the gun. Like it’s a blank space, and staring into it, my mind goes blank as well.

Chief notices this. She approaches, kneels, and reaches out for the gun. I twist, pulling it away, and putting a shoulder between it - the gun I’m supposed to protect like it’s Asami herself - and Chief. 

She notices this too, and narrows her eyes. “Shiny gun, Korra. Present from Asami? Already buying you jewelry, is she? I didn’t know-”

“Damn right, you didn’t. And you don’t. So maybe you should shut the fuck, and let me enlighten you.”

Chief stands, and takes a step back. Her hands are balled at her side, and I notice, for the first time, the tips of metal cables. She licks her lips. “What was that?”

I turn, facing her, and stand myself. But I can’t match her gaze. I can’t do anything but stare into the dark depths of the gun, and lose myself there. “That was me snapping at you. I’m sorry, but you don’t know. You don’t understand. It’s not your fault, really. How could you? It’s just, this...” I hold the gun up to her eyes. “This is the gun Hiroshi Sato used to murder his wife.”

The void opens up and swallows Chief, and now she’s here with me, in this great bloody nothing. We’re not even drowning, because at least that would be something. And anyway, you can’t drown in this. I know that now. Learned it after getting shot. Like a long forgotten memory, found without even knowing where to look. Or even how to look. But there it was. Everything is blood everywhere. If we could really drown in it, we’d never draw breath. And maybe that would be better, but… life just doesn’t work that way. Not for us, and not for anyone. We keep on floating, drifting, until it deposits us wherever it deposits us.

Right now, this is where I am. Right here with Chief, her eyes as wide as can be, but her lips so thin as to be a single line. She doesn’t speak for a long time. When she does, it’s a simple, quiet thing. Like all of the authority has gone right out of her, and it’s washed away.

“How?” is all she says. But it’s enough.

I face the floor, and pull the gun back, holding it tight to me. Like it could run away. “Asami recovered this gun from the scene. The night her mother was killed. She saw her father there, standing in the fire, with the ceiling collapsing around him. He ran, and didn’t see her. And she ran the opposite way, to her mother. She found this gun, and took it. She wasn’t searched that night-”

“I know.”

“And so she kept it hidden. Somehow, until the shootout and Mayor Raiko’s mansion. She pulled it on Kuvira, who recognized it. But that’s another story. It’s her father I’m concerned about now. He saw it, and it was like terror incarnate in her hand. Later, she pulled it on Saikhan-”

“Saikhan? Why?”

I meet her eyes. “He’s on Hiroshi’s payroll. Has been for over twenty years. Since before the murder he investigated.”

I don’t think the foundation of the house shakes, but maybe. Maybe it does. Chief is shaking, at least, and it looks like she might bring the whole thing down around us. Like she might like nothing better. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

“I… I do. Yes. He was with us when we… we did business together. I saw him work with my own eyes. Heard him confess when she put that gun on him. He’s dirty, now and forever.”

“And he recognized the gun?”

“Just as Hiroshi did. That same terror, written on his face, plain as anything.”

“He’s investigated thousands of cases, since then. Some of them Sato cases. He’s busted them more than anyone.”

I shrug. “They fed him. Sacrifice small losses for big victories.”

Chief pauses, and she gnaws on her lip. “It was a platinum bullet, wasn’t it?” She nods, then turns, and punches a hole in the wall. “It was a fucking platinum bullet! They don’t manufacture them… never have. Because they can take a loss on that one thing. But they can make them in private, keep the things in house, then use them for one kill every few years.” Her arms clench, and now I’m pretty sure the house does shake. The tension goes soon enough, however. She takes a long, slow breath, then lets it out. “A fucking platinum bullet.” She turns, and she laughs. Because what else can you do? “I suppose you’re going to tell me the coroner was paid off too? Lost the bullet, and all the visible pieces? I couldn’t bend any of the microscopic fragments out, and it’s the same thing all over again, just about. Hiroshi gets Triads to serve as a distraction, then pops someone in the head, who’s standing in the way of him and more fucking money. Yasuko then, Suyin now. Hiroshi-”

“I don’t think Hiroshi pulled the trigger this time.”

“And I don’t think it matters what you think. Not a damn bit. But… at least with Suyin, the bullet missed, and maybe I can get my hands on it. That piece still in her neck, that’s actually unique. And the rest of it… where’s that?” 

“Kuvira.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway, I suppose. If she bent the bullet apart, there won’t be any platinum left. She could turn it in, and we couldn’t prove a damn thing. But… I don’t think we’re going to prove much in that case anyway. Probably won’t even get that piece that’s still in Suyin’s neck. Maybe Hiroshi gets his money in the pockets of a doctor out there, and the bullet goes missing. Shit, maybe he already has. Maybe he scraps every bit of evidence that he ever made a bullet like that, and so we get nothing. He’s probably done that already, actually.” She shakes her head. “Not really a maybe, now that I think about it. That bullet’s going to be lost, soon enough. If it isn’t already gone. Lost, just like the one that killed Yasuko.”

“I… I don’t think that bullet’s lost, Chief.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Hiroshi?”

“No. I think… Saikhan. When Asami… well, they had an… argument. He let it slip that he could betray Hiroshi to her. Tell her things that would take him down. And show her things. What could he show her that would be worse?”

“Something to actually tie the gun to the scene.”

“Wait… but I know-”

“Doesn’t matter what you know. Or what you say, sadly. You’re so far off the book… you don’t even exist. That’s the best and the worst thing about you. Best, because no one can spill to the Satos, because no one knows. All of our regular, on the books and by the book undercover agents kept turning up dead. But if the Satos ask their sources about you? Nothing. So this is better for you and me both. But you can’t testify. Because you’re not really a cop. That’s the worst part. So it doesn’t matter what you know, or what you say. Because you’re pretty damn illegal. Only matters what you can help me prove. Try to get a fucking warrant for Hiroshi Sato’s arrest with anything less than a picture of him shooting her. Forget an indictment, and don’t even dream of a conviction.”

“But the casing… it’s right there. Right at the scene.” I fish out a bullet, and toss it to her. “See? Brass, just like-”

“Everybody uses brass. And what? A gun was fired? How do we know it was that gun? And let’s say we can prove that. How do we know she didn’t just fire it? It’d seem reasonable. That’s what the report concluded, and it makes the most sense.”

“She didn’t fire.”

“Great. According to who? To Dai?” She sees my mouth open, and holds a hand up. “Mako was there, remember? He told me about his speech. Not really a credible witness though, Dai. And not really a living one, either.”

“So you don’t believe me?”

“I think… maybe you’re right. Probably, even. I didn't punch the wall for my health, but bending just doesn’t give you the same release. Doesn’t matter though. Hiroshi’s a piece of shit, and he never could’ve been this specific kind, if his wife was around. So there’s your motive. And he fucked over the Agni Kai, by putting their higher ups in prison. There’s a secondary motive. But that’s not the same as proof. Not in this town.”

“So we need the bullet?”

“That’d be nice. Probably not enough, though. So Saikhan has a platinum bullet. Great. Again, nice circumstantial evidence. Makes for a good story. But how do we know it was taken from Yasuko’s head?”

“We…” my head drops, and I sigh. “We don’t. Blood analysis could tell you it belonged to a woman, but that only cuts things in half.”

Chief pats me on the shoulder, and it’s a little too hard. Don’t figure she does that much. “Don’t look so defeated, kid. You did good. Great, even. This isn’t enough, no, but it’s a damn fine start. I’ll start digging through Saikhan’s history, and keeping a really close eye on him. One tiny little fuckup - past or present - and there’s my warrant, and I’m searching his house. Could be tonight. Could be a week. Probably no longer than two. Best case scenario, I find the bullet, and offer him immunity to testify about his role in the coverup. Hiroshi goes down. There’s a lot in between, but even the worst case would be outing and busting a dirty cop. And that’s not nothing.”

I bite my lip, glance at Chief, then at the floor, then back at Chief. “What about Asami?”

“What about her? I mean, this is tragic. Obviously. But-”

“No, I mean… what about Asami. Like, would you give her immunity? If she would testify against her father. She could tell you about Saikhan. She could tell you about seeing Hiroshi, standing over Yasuko’s body. Asami thought he was trying to save her, but… well I know better now. And even if… even if that case doesn’t open up for you, she could tell you about everything else. She knows everything, Chief. If she turned…”

“If she turned, the whole damn city would turn on its head with her. What are you saying, Korra? You think you can do this? You think you can-”

“I know.”

“Pretty confidant.”

“She trusts me.”

“You're betting your life on that.”

“I am. She said she did. And that gun… she wouldn't have given it to me otherwise. She’ll listen, just let me take the files-”

“No.”

“But-”

“I’m not letting you take police property into the Sato estate. You’re smarter than that. Or at least, I think you are.”

“Then how am I supposed to-”

“You’re not supposed to do anything more. This is it. You’re done. Congratulations. Stay here, I’ll get the paperwork in order, send some letters, and you’ll be cleared as soon as you get back South.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m going to talk to her. She’ll listen. If I… can I bring her here? Mako said the place is shutting down, and you’ll just fill in the tunnel anyway. So if I can get her over here this evening, we can go over everything with her. And you can make your offer. Full immunity, right?”

“If you deliver, and so does she.”

I take a step, and Chief grabs my arm. “The gun. I can lose you. Not it.”

“I can’t, she’ll-”

Chiefs arm swings up, and the concrete floor erupts from underneath the carpet, blocking the door. “Don’t give me your fucking can’t. Give me the gun. If it’s a murder weapon, and if you try to leave with it… that won’t go well for you. So don’t try.”

“And what am I supposed to do without it?”

“Go home, like I said. You’re the one who wants to drive straight to your own funeral.”

“She couldn’t do that.”

“Then you don’t need the gun. If she’ll believe you - if she really trusts you, and not a case file - then leave the gun. I’ll have it, this evening. Safe as can be. And then she’ll have a chance to see it again, and look over those files. If you think it’s that easy.”

“It is that simple,” I say. 

But simple isn’t easy. Not always close. Still, I hand the gun to Chief. I give her that void, and feel one grow inside of me. A heavy, haunting emptiness, that’ll be full with something by the end of this night. I tell myself Asami and I are done floating, done going with the currents. I see a coast, salvation, and I’m swimming for it, even if I have to carry her the entire way.


	49. Chapter 49

Walking up the stairs, it’s like they’re creaking to me, or maybe even at me. Trying to say something, and maybe it’s just goodbye. It’s not like I spent much time here, but then time was never a very good measure of things anyway. You spend more of life sleeping than doing anything else, and you don’t remember any of that, except the dreams. And I don’t think that counts. The rest of your days are mostly spent doing boring nothings, and those don’t stick out at all either. It’s the same with people. I’ve spent less time with Asami than any number of nobody cops, back South, whose names I don’t even remember. And maybe I didn’t even bother learning them in the first place. Some things - and people - just matter more than others. You can try to make sense of it using time, but that math just doesn’t work.

So I turn towards the bar on my way out, heading downstairs to wave goodbye to Mako again, because dammit he did save my life. And that’s something. He waves back, and when I come back up the stairs, Bolin and Opal are entering. I smile and wave, and Bolin looks like maybe he’s about to say something, but Opal punches him in the arm, and his mouth just twists into a grimace instead. Still, I try to give her a polite nod. Apparently Su can’t bend a paperclip now, which means she’s getting even worse. Chief didn’t seem happy about her condition, and if Chief starts to feel things… it must be pretty bad. So I can’t really hold it against Opal, if she’s mad at me. I did the best I could, but maybe that wasn’t enough. And even if it was, I’m still associated with the people who put that bullet there in the first place. I just hope Kuvira’s fiance - Baatar, wasn’t it? - gets that taken care of. 

She told him about Asami. About their past. I wonder how he feels about it. Maybe a bit like me. Maybe a lot worse, because if they’re engaged, then they must’ve been together for a while longer, and progressed pretty far past awkward noodle dates. So maybe she loves him. I know her reputation, and I know that violence in her eyes. I’ve seen it, and I’ve felt it digging into me. But maybe all that doesn’t negate the possibility of love. Maybe she could still do it, and maybe that’s what she’s aiming at him. I hope it is. Because if she loves him, then that means she didn’t just send him away for artificial reasons, but because he’s the person she trusts most to take care of Su. And it also means she won’t try anything with Asami today. I don’t want to think about that, but I figure thinking about it is less bad than explicitly asking Asami about it.

It’s also less bad than worrying about the gun, and how I’m going to explain losing it to Asami. She told me to protect it like I’d protect her. And there I just gave it away. She could read that as me giving her away, selling her out… and the reason I gave it away doesn’t really help my argument there. Telling her she can trust me, because I betrayed her - but only in a good way - is tricky. But that’s what I’m going to do, because it’s the only thing to do. Chief had told me I could go home, but that was never true. This city’s in my blood now - is my blood, maybe - and although I know it hasn’t been long, time never could measure a thing like that. 

\-----

The key turns, and the engine turns over, and the air is full with that primal quake. I try to listen to that and only that, to let it fill my mind and drown out everything else. Because the anxiety there isn’t doing me any good. And it’s pointless, anyway. Asami said she trusted me, and she’s too damn smart to throw around words the wrong way, or if she doesn’t mean them. No, she knows exactly what she said, and she meant it. Plus, I’m not asking her to believe in nothing. I just need her to take a drive with me. We’ll come to Sharks, head downstairs, and Mako can call Chief. She’ll head over and we’ll have our talk. I’ll be there for her, because it’ll be a hard talk for sure. Some part of her mind will fight it, but it’ll all be right there. Only circumstantial evidence when taken on its own; but she saw her father’s reaction, and she saw Saikhan’s. She’s too perceptive to have missed them, and too brilliant to not add everything up, when it's put in front of her. It’ll crush her, maybe even break her, but I’ll be there to pick up the pieces. To do anything. She was there for me when I needed it, and whatever the reason, things like that don’t just go away. 

I stop at a light, and glance back and forth. I notice the form of the car next to me is… well, it’s exactly the same as mine. My eyes go up the door, through window, and it’s Sama. Sama? A driver, out for a drive. I guess it’s not the oddest thing in the world, but it doesn’t look like she has anyone with her. She notices, and tosses a smile my direction. I do the same, and I wonder if she’s testing out some new engine, or maybe she’s modified that one somehow, or… I really don’t know. Could be a thousand things, and I’d never guess nine hundred of them. 

Wherever she’s going, it seems like we’re headed about the same way, and so we stop at the next light, side by side again. I glance back over, and I’m going to wave again, but she’s not looking. Her eyes are cast down, and it looks like she’s fishing around for something. Her head picks back up, and she notices my eyes. Quickly, she looks forward, and I see her arm move. Just the smallest bit, like maybe her hand moved too. It’s one of the things cops learn, how to spot someone grabbing at a gun that’s out of our line of sight. And how to tell when they’re starting to squeeze. It looks like she did that, like she squeezed something, but there’s no sound. Not gunfire, and… no engine either.

The light turns green, and people are honking, and then shouting, and I’m trying to apologize in between turns of the key. But there’s nothing. Not a sound coming from the engine. Not even a sputter. I grit my teeth and wonder if whatever she did to my engine failed spectacularly, or if it worked perfectly. If she installed some kind of… something, and I don’t even know if that would work, but dammit, the engine’s not working. 

“You fucking bitch,” I say to no one. 

A glance at my rear view mirror, and things aren’t getting better. There’s a police car, then a bald head popping out from the door, and Saikhan stepping out. He smirks at me, and things are about as bad as they could get, I think. He walks over slowly, and leans up against my door.

“I’m going to have to ask you to move your car, ma’am.”

I just set my eyes on his, and say nothing. 

“Ok then. Perhaps you could step out of your car, and help me push it to the side of the road? And while we’re at it, I think a search might be in order.”

“You’re a fucking metalbender. Move it yourself.”

He sighs, and stares up at the sky. “Well now I really do have to ask that you step out of your car. Can’t talk to a policeman that way.”

I want to tell him that he can’t search me for no fucking reason. That being a jerk to a cop isn’t illegal. I want to start citing legal precedents - because damn, I spent too many boring hours studying Republic City law before coming here - but I figure that could be an obvious tell. So I swallow the law dictionary that’s sitting on my tongue down, and step out of the car.

He smiles, and does roll the car over to the side of the road, right out of traffic. Bend the rims, and the wheels turn. Bend the… whatever that thing is, under the car, and it’ll roll which ever way you want. There are honks of appreciation, but a couple people still yell “Fuck you” at me, and I just don’t care. Maybe people are assholes everywhere, but I can’t imagine living in this city helps improve that condition. 

“Up against the trunk,” Saikhan says, pointing. 

I have to bite my tongue again, but I do comply. He’s professional, at least. His hands aren’t lingering anywhere, just patting along, maybe even a little faster than normal. Like he’s anxious. Like he’s looking for something, and not finding it. I think of the gun in Chief’s hands, and I almost want to laugh. 

Saikhan’s not thinking any of this is funny, however. He finishes his pat-down, and starts rummaging through my car. He didn’t even ask to search it, and I’m still not going to point out that he has no reason to be doing any of this. He’s not finding anything at all, and now it really is hard to choke back the laughter. I really want to flip him off, and ask “Is this what you’re looking for?” 

I don’t do it, but it’s especially tempting, when he steps out of my car, and starts walking my way. His face is red, and I think he’s sweating. “You’re coming with-”

“Saikhan. Do we have a problem here? This isn’t your patrol, right now. What was so urgent that you had to head this way?” Chief, leaning up against the side of her police car, smirking. 

He wipes his forehead. “I heard a complaint on the radio. Something about a car blocking traffic. Everyone nearby was busy, and I’m a metalbender, so I drove over. Though I could fix it the easiest.”

“And you did. Good work. But you’re an important piece of my puzzle, Saikhan. I need you in your place, otherwise everything else falls apart. So please, return to your patrol. I’ll see about calling this girl a tow. Maybe I'll even check out the engine myself. Maybe I can fix it.”

He smiles, but his eyes twitch. I don’t figure Chief compliments him too often, and I don't figure he wants her looking at that engine. “Thanks Chief. And of course. I’ll be on my way.”

He keeps his eyes pointed opposite me as he walks by, then nods at Chief. He gets in his car, and he’s off. I’m turned around, but still leaning against the trunk of my car. I try to suppress a grin, as Chief walks over, but it’s fighting its way into the open. 

“You knew he was going to be here, and he was going to search me. That’s why you kept… it. How?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Dumb luck, mostly. I happened to notice him driving around the neighborhood, on my way over here. After what you told me about him, I realized the area was in between Sharks and the Sato estate, so I-”

“Wait. You could’ve warned me?”

“I could have.”

“And you didn’t.”

“I did not.”

“You can be a real bitch, you know that?”

“I am aware, yes. But I don’t care. Not ever, and certainly not now. Because what I got out of it… well, it was worth a few moments of discomfort, on your end.”

“According to you.”

“According to the only opinion that matters on the subject. I got to see firsthand that Saikhan does know about the gun, and considers it valuable enough to stop and frisk you over, in broad daylight, on a horribly flimsy premise.” 

“On no premise at all, actually.”

“No premise?” She smiles, and I’m not used to seeing that. “That could form the beginning of a formal investigation, on my part. So that’s another benefit, then, even beyond more or less confirming that the gun matters, and Saikhan’s fucking filthy.” 

“Still, you could’ve warned me, and held onto the gun.”

“I could have, but… I needed to know. I needed to know that you really believed this was possible, even without the gun. Saying it was easy, but really acting on it? Walking right out that door, and maybe jumping down a six foot deep hole in the dirt at the same damn time? That told me you were up for this, and that you really believed. And if you believed then, without the gun, I’m willing to bet you’ll believe a lot more with it.”

“So you’re-”

“I’d like to check your papers. I’ll just head on over to your glovebox myself. Do I have your permission?”

“Help yourself.” 

Of course, she’s responsible for my papers. The papers that document an identity that’d probably get me arrested, back South. But not here. And that must be Chief’s doing too. Because I’m some kind of fugitive, running from imagined charges. Charges, that haven’t followed me here. I’m guessing they would, though, if I gave Chief a reason to invite them. 

Chief finishes with my papers, and puts them back. I know she puts something else there as well, but even though I’m looking for it, I don’t see the motion. I’m impressed. She walks around to the front of my car, and bends the hood open. I follow, to see what she’s looking at. 

She holds up a small box, with a few wires protruding. “A radio controlled killswitch. Attaches to your battery, and with the push of a button, your car dies.”

I shake my head, and find my hands have already made themselves into fists. “Fucking Sama.”

“Who?”

“Just… a Sato employee. Seemed nice. Isn’t nice.”

“People are that way. Often not what they seem at first.”

I could look in a mirror right now, if I wanted confirmation. “You don’t say?” 

She smirks, and maybe she meant that as a joke. Maybe she jokes. Strange, but maybe. “Anyway, this… Sama, you think she attached this?”

“Right before I got out to my car, she was working on the engine. They must’ve guessed I’d drive somewhere alone, with Asami headed to Kuvira’s-”

“Why’s she headed there?”

“Don’t ask.”

“I already did.”

“They… you don’t know?”

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. But…” She crosses her arms, and leans in. She’s searching my eyes, and then deeper still. “Oh. I think I can guess. They’re-”

“No, they’re not.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“I didn’t need to. They’re not. But they used to. There’s a lot more to it than that. A lot. But… I’m not going there. Ok?”

“Doesn’t look like it’s ok with you though. Not really.”

“Like I said, there’s more to it. And anyway, I’m just… worried. Not so much about that. More about what could happen to her.”

“Kuvira wouldn’t kill her. Not in her own place, and certainly not when several people know they’re meeting. I don’t care who you are, that’s an easy conviction.”

“Still, that’s... not the most comforting thing in the world.”

“I don’t know. Have you seen the world? It’s not a very comforting place.”

I can’t argue with that, so I don’t bother trying. I just nod, and get in the car.

Chief holds up a finger, and pulls out a pad of paper. She pretends she’s writing me a ticket, then leans in the window. “One more thing, before you go. And listen close, because this is personal. And I hate getting personal. What you said, back there… if it’s all true, that means I had that gun - and the entire fucking case - within my fingertips. And I missed it. I let it slip, and so this - all of this - is my damn fault. Twenty years of bribes, hits, and a crumbling city, and I could’ve stopped it. But I fucked up. Just that once, I let sentiment get in the way. I saw a sad little girl, and I didn’t want to search her. So I didn’t, and I told everyone else to leave her alone. Now, I wouldn’t make that mistake. Now, I know better. I know this city doesn’t have room for sentiment. And you better believe that yourself, right now. You better know it like you know the sun’s going to rise in the morning. Because I know why you’re doing this. You see that sad little girl, and she’s all grown up now, but still sad. You think you can make her happy. But there’s some part of you that’s worried. Because, in order to make her happy, you have to show her the deepest depths of sadness. You’ll have to stick a knife in her heart, and twist. But I’m not letting you make my mistake. I’m not letting sentiment get in the way of fixing this mess. Of fixing my fucking mess. If saving her means hurting her, then you stab, and you twist until she bleeds right out. Got it?”

It’s surgery, I tell myself. Cutting out some diseased thing, so that the whole lives on. Bloody work, but then everything is already so bloody anyway. And this… it’s all healing at the end of the day. For both of us. “Got it.” 

“Get going. Your car should be fine now. If anyone asks why it's running, just shrug, and say you have no clue. It just started working again. These things do fall off. Pretty easily, actually. Saikhan will of course tell Hiroshi he removed it himself, while inspecting your vehicle. Because he should've done that, but messed up.”

I check the glove box first, and see that yes, there it is. Unmistakable, like someone folded the moon into it. I nod, and turn the key. The engine comes to life, like it was never even dead. Lucky thing, making that transition so easily. No blood, and no scars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you guys thought Lin was just being a jerk.


	50. Chapter 50

It’s a damn strange thing, being in the biggest hurry of your life, but driving about as slow as possible. At least, as slow as might not be suspicious. You drive too slow, and people think you’re hiding something. Cops might pull you over, and since half the cops in Republic City are on Hiroshi’s payroll, that’d go bad for me in a hurry. They’d pat me down, and they’d find nothing. But maybe they’d search the car, and then they’d find the biggest thing I’ve ever held. Maybe they’d find the gun that killed Yasuko Sato, and could very well kill the Sato crime empire too. 

It’s almost a bit poetic, that. The same weapon that started all this, could end all of it too. Past is prologue, Asami tells me. And if that’s the case, maybe the universe does have a sense of plotting things out. Maybe Asami’s ultimate revenge can come without firing a shot herself. Just a quiet talk with Chief, in which she details every little thing she knows, and knocks her father off his tower. It’s so high up, I’m not sure he’d survive the fall. And right now, I’m damn sure that I don’t care about his wellbeing. 

Because it’s not just that he ruined Asami’s life. No, that’d be disgusting, but nothing as perverse as the reality. He created a life for her that was nothing but ruin. He surrounded her with it, nurtured her in it, until it was her only comfort. Until violence was the song to put her to sleep at night. It was all she ever knew, and all she could ever learn. And she did. She learned everything about it she could, in order to avenge her mother’s death. 

But she never got the man behind the whole thing. Never got the man that tipped the Agni Kai off, regarding where the perimeter would be weak. Never got the man who hid in a safe room, the moment the attack started, and left his wife outside. Never got the man who, when he discovered she still breathed, panicked, and shot her himself. She never got that rat fucking bastard. But now she has her chance. It’s in my glove box, and I’m bringing it to her. 

I can almost hear the gun whispering to me, under the engine roar. It’s telling me of that night, of black truths and darker lies, and a world turned red. It’s telling me that this can all be over, that Asami and I can find a shore, find a way out of this fucking maelstrom. And I don’t say anything back, but in my mind, I agree. And as my hands clench the steering wheel, it’s with the same strength that I feel in my chest. It’s knowing that Asami trusts me now, and that she will. She’ll hear my words - though I can’t even begin to script them - and she’ll really and truly listen. 

It will break her. I will break her. I’ll knock her over like a vase, and the pieces will scatter across the floor. But I’ll be there to pick them up, and I’ll put things back together. Whatever it takes. Because she’s never had anyone to do that, and she deserves it. Because she did it for me, when I was broken. She held my hand, and held me together. But it’s not just that shared trauma. There’s beauty, and charm there too. So much of both, deep within her. Only no one’s looked. I’ve had a glance, and I want to see more. Still, I’m not looking for an infinite future. I don’t need her to promise that. I don’t need her to promise anything. All I want is a new beginning, for her. And I want that new beginning to be with me. We’ll walk up on a beach, and wring the red out of our clothes. We’ll lay back, and feel the lack of current, knowing our life is now our own, and entirely up to us. And it’ll all be so beautiful.

I’m almost staring up at the sky, pulling into the Sato estate, mistaking the smooth leather for white sand. Or maybe it could even be snow. People don’t think of heading South, when they want beaches. But maybe they should. Because the night sky, when it dances with colors you can’t paint, colors that can’t be duplicated… there’s nothing like it. No words for it. It’s a sight beyond human comprehension. And yet, everyone should try. Because although your mind can’t get all the way around it, there’s something gained in the effort. Even in failing, you grow. I wonder if Asami’s seen those lights. And I wonder if she’d like to.

I pull into the garage, and finagle the gun down my pants, and into the thigh holster. It’s not really the safest way to carry, and it’s surely not the most comfortable. But it’s the only way to keep the thing hidden, which is enough to justify just about any discomfort. If I had to peel my own skin back, and fold it underneath, I think I would. Just long enough to walk the gun in, and present it to Asami. 

Of course, I don’t know where Asami is. I don’t know that she’s back yet, even. Though I hope she is. I can’t imagine her and Kuvira had all that much to talk about, and I certainly hope they didn’t find any new and exciting conversational material. Just business, they both said, and how much business could there really have been? We won’t shoot each other, and neither will our people. Handshake. Done. 

But if Asami is back, I figure she’ll be in that study, right nearby our rooms. That’s where she seems to spend most of her time, and so that’s the direction I head. It’s not a difficult walk now, and it no longer even seems that long. When a thing is automated, it starts to feel quicker. Maybe your mind wanders off, and that sensation has some truth to it. Either way, the sensation is that I’m there in no time at all.

And Asami is there. I feel a warmth and an absence in my chest all at once, and then a surge of nausea. She’s back, and she’s safe, and I want to embrace her. And yet I know… I know that I’m going to hurt her soon. And so I don’t even trust my hands. I wonder if any touch I give might feel like daggers, like even a hug would feel like knives in the back. 

She smiles at me, and all that is gone. I’m neutral, numb. Terrified beyond anxiety, beyond feeling. She pushes a takeout box in my direction, and gives it a nod. “Have a seat. I got the noodles.”

I press my hand up against my leg, and her eyes follow. The indentation of the gun is visible for a moment, just long enough to let her know that I brought back what I promised as well. 

“Thank you,” she says.

“No trouble at all.” One last lie, before a barrage of truth. “Do you want it back now?”

She laughs. “Sure. It’ll be awkward, but you could’ve worn something other than pants, you know. Would’ve made it easier.”

I shrug. “Would’ve made it easier to find, also. If someone had a mind to look. Can I ask, where do you…”

“I wear a lot of jackets.”

“I’d noticed.”

“Then that’s your answer.”

“Thought maybe you just got cold easy.”

“A little of that too. We didn’t all grow up surrounded by sub freezing temperatures. I’m not sure I’d survive, in a place like that.”

“I think… I think you could make it work. For just a little while at least. Maybe just the length of a vacation.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Provided I had someone to keep me warm at night?”

I put a hand on the back of my neck, and it sure does feel warm right now. My cheeks do also. But I manage to meet her eyes, and smile in a way that I hope looks more confident than I feel. I move towards the table, take my other hand, and fish the gun out. Asami has to stifle a laugh, and I have to admit, it does look pretty strange. 

But, strange or not, I get the gun out, and hand it to Asami. Her hand lingers on mine for a moment. Then, quickly, she slides the gun in her jacket. I don’t notice a holster built in, nor do I see any mark of a gun, even knowing what to look for, and exactly where to set my eyes. But I figure she’s had a lifetime to practice hiding this thing, and so she should be good at it. 

I take a seat across the table, and start slurping my noodles in time with her. It’s almost strange, seeing Asami eat like that. Even though I’ve seen it once before, it’s… it doesn’t match her reputation. She’s made out to be some ethereal killer, a wandering malevolent spirit that drinks blood and feasts on souls, or some shit like that. There’s no room in those stories for a girl that slurps her noodles, just like you’re supposed to. No room in them for a girl that gives such comfort with only a touch, and whose kisses speak so much truth. 

I’ve felt those things, and I know them. But I know something else besides. I know so much, and yet not how to say it. 

“The meeting went well,” Asami says. 

I look up from the bowl I hadn’t realized I was staring into. 

“You look worried. And… I understand. But you should know, she didn’t try to hurt me. Didn’t try to do anything at all, besides discuss business. I told her what my father told me, and while she certainly didn’t seem fond of the fact, she seemed very willing to accept it. Or at least, to move on. I told her that would be a good idea in any case, because revenge never really accomplishes anything. It’s just a cycle, killing everything except itself. Like some sort of parasite, that way. Just devouring, until there’s nothing left to do but starve.”

The noodles, suddenly, don’t seem very appetizing. “No, Asami. It’s not that. It’s…”

She waves her hand. “No, really. I don’t mind. She did tell me a little more about… us. About me. Or the person I was. About the memories Minami had, and the stories she told. Which were precious few. She only discussed her past in vague terms, which makes sense, because I only ever gave her a vague past. A hard life on the streets of Republic City, scraping by without parents. Just bones, really. And as for that trauma… it’s like, right after the Last Dance, Asami died. And then Minami was born, but there was a blank space before she started filling in memories of her own. Which fits, because that’s how life works in general. So Minami didn’t know how she ended up Zaofu, or why that first firefight with Kuvira tore her up like it did. But that was fine, because-”

“Because Kuvira didn’t care about your past, right? She just wanted your present.”

Asami glances at the table, and licks her lips. “I’m not trying to do that, you know. I’m not trying to repeat things she said. And I’m not trying to insert you into a role, like this is all some play.”

I reach across the table, and take her hand. “That’s… I know. I know you don’t mean to. And I shouldn’t have said anything about that. It’s just… you know.”

Asami squeezes my hand, and traces my palm with her thumb. “I do. Yeah. But, again, that really wasn’t much of our conversation.”

“That’s good.” I bite my lip. “But, about business-”

“Oh. Right. We did check the hospital records, by the way. Noatak. That was the doctor Kuvira mentioned. He hadn’t yet returned from some out of town business, so she didn’t get to see him. She was a bit bothered by that, because apparently Suyin found his treatment more effective than anyone else’s. Whatever he did. Kuvira couldn’t really tell, although she was in the room at the time. Supervising, guarding, whatever you want to call it. It looked to her like he did the water healing thing, and that was it. But maybe he's just that good. Anyway, Suyin felt good enough that she told Kuvira to leave. She could take care of herself. And to send anyone in who wanted to talk with her.”

“A long list, I’m assuming.”

“Very. Seventeen names. The only one I recognized was Opal.”

“You think…”

“I think it’s worth looking into.”

I pause, and trace the outline of my lips with my tongue. “We could go talk to her tonight, if you wanted.”

“I was going to suggest the same thing, actually. Apparently my father’s meeting with Saikhan went well, so we won’t have to bother with him. Not soon, at least. And hopefully not ever.”

I’d suggest the opposite, but then I don’t have to. If we go to Sharks, and talk to Chief, then Saikhan doesn’t matter. Let him conspire with Hiroshi for his last free days. I’ll tell her on the drive over, why we’re really going there. I’ll tell her where it’s private, and safe. Where no one can overhear. “She was at Sharks, when I left-”

“I was going to ask why you went there. Sama was out testing an engine, and said she saw your car in the parking lot.”

Of course, Sama wasn’t out for a test drive. The bitch followed me. But, like Saikhan, she doesn’t matter. She’ll go down with all the rest, soon enough. “They’re closing. Today is the last day, and I wanted to say goodbye to Mako and Bolin. Opal, of course, was with Bolin, and-”

Asami’s grip on my hand loosens, and then falls away. She leans back in her chair. “Why are they closing?”

The pit in my stomach opens wider, and the ledge surrounding it shrinks. “Asami, I-”

She holds up a finger. “You know what? Don’t answer that.”

“Asami-”

“Stop.” Her eyes dart across the ceiling, like she’s adding something up. I don’t see the equation, but when her eyes find mine again, I know the solution she’s found. “There’s been chatter amongst the Triads about that failed Agni Kai hit on us. Apparently a few sympathizers and fellow aggrieved parties have taken up looking for the traitor. The one that saved us. I didn't get a good look at him, but it was a him. A young man, a little above average height. Black hair. And a firebender, obviously. Now, one reason why Sharks might be closing is because someone matching this description realizes he better leave town in a hurry. And the decision did come fast. I know, because we sell to that damn place. Well, we don’t. We sell to people who sell to people who sell to people, on and on and on, so nothing can be traced back to us. But that’s not the fucking point. The point is, Sharks filed their most recent order just two days ago. Now you wouldn’t do that, if you were planning to leave town. You see where this is headed?”

I stand up from the table, and walk around to Asami. I put my hand on her shoulder. “I can explain.”

She pushes my hand away, and stands. “You’d fucking better. Because to me, here’s what this looks like: Mako was embedded in the Agni Kai. He saved your life, and now the last few would-be members of that dead syndicate are starting to come around his bar, so he’s running. Now, maybe I could write this off, if it was just him. Maybe I could believe he was really with them, and just so happened to know you. But Bolin’s with Opal. He’s with a Beifong. When I add those together, and then add you being with me...” Asami shakes her head, and her eyes begin to quiver. Her voice cracks, and pieces fly everywhere. “Tell me I’m wrong, Korra. Please. Tell me this is real. Tell me you’re not a fucking cop.”

I meet her eyes, and put my hands on her shoulders again. “We… we were real. We are real. What I feel, it is. But Asami… I can’t tell you I’m not a cop. I can’t say that, because I won’t lie to you.”

She sighs, and looks down at the floor. “You won’t lie to me? That’s all you’ve done. I’m sorry, Korra. But this is how it has to be.”

“Asami-”

There’s a gun against my forehead, and one in my hand, pressed against Asami’s. I don’t remember reaching for it, but there it is. A regular Dragon Flats standoff, only we’re each aiming teary eyes at each other as well.

“I should have known.” Asami shakes her head. “Blue. I should’ve fucking known. Blue was a traitor before, and this is all the same thing, all over again. So why shouldn’t you betray me? Why shouldn’t-”

“I’m not here to betray you, Asami. I’m here to save you. From this life. We’ve been resigned to drifting along in a sea of blood, maybe forever. But I’ve found a way out. Just come with me to Sharks, and we can be free of this.”

Asami doesn’t say anything for a long, heavy moment. But her trigger finger relaxes, and she lowers her gun. Another moment crawls past, and she slides the gun back in her jacket. “Tell me.”

I lower mine as well. “We have to go, Asami. It’s-” I stop. There’s no sound. No nothing. 

I can’t move my jaw. 

Asami’s eyes dart behind me, and I turn, to see Hiroshi Sato, flanked by four guards, standing with another man I don’t recognize. But I know him, somehow. He feels familiar, almost like he’s… blood. He’s Water Tribe, I can tell. Black hair, with a strong jaw. But his eyes… his eyes are like the sea itself, and yet somehow deeper, stronger, with infinite terrors hiding in their depths. 

I feel them pull me under, tear me away from Asami. I’m tumbling down into that red until it’s the deepest darkness there could ever be. Everything is blood, but none of it belongs to me. I am his, completely and wholly. 

I fall to my knees, and my head faces the floor. I try to shout, to scream to Asami what her father did, why she has to come with me. But there’s nothing. No voice. My body is not my own. I know how this must look. Kneeling, head down and silent. I must look defeated, resigned. I must look like a liar, ready to accept their execution. I look like Saikhan, when he asked her to make his death quick.

“Did I hear something about a cop?” Hiroshi asks. “And with a gun drawn, no less…” 

Asami kneels beside me. “Say it,” she whispers.

And I want to. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. I don’t care that her father is here. I could whisper it, and maybe he’d shoot me, or maybe not. Maybe Asami could fake my death. Or maybe she’d actually kill me. But at least then she’d know. She could find her justice, find her new life, with or without me. But my body is not my own, and so I say nothing. 

She grabs my chin, and twists so that I’m looking her square in the eyes. “Fucking coward. Fucking traitor.” She’s projecting like there’s an audience. She stands, and pushes my head away. 

Hiroshi’s men pull me to my feet, and I feel every bit a puppet, being dangled from unseen string. 

Hiroshi clears his throat. “Asami, I think we should-”

“No. She doesn’t know anything. She was just a tool. Utterly meaningless to me.”

“Still-”

“I said no.” She meets my eyes, and I see rage burning on the surface. But as the tinder gives way, I see a void. A vast emptiness, except for a bright black tragedy. There is, at her very core, a sadness beyond imagining. “This is the deal.” She glances at her father, and then back at me. “For both of you. Korra gets until the sun rises in the morning to leave. If she sees that sunrise in Republic City, then she dies. Her family dies. Everyone who has so much as said a nice word to her dies. But if she’s hurt before that - if she even skins a knee while tripping off of a curb - I’ll hold everyone here responsible.”

“I thought you said she didn’t mean anything to you.”

“She doesn’t. But I’ve learned, father, that revenge always has a way of coming back and hurting the person who inflicted it in the first place. If possible, I would rather avoid that vicious cycle.”

“That’s true enough. However-”

“There’s no fucking however, in this case. You’re not hurting her. Not tonight, at least. And if she’s smart enough to leave town, then not ever. We will walk her out the front door, and to her car. Then, we’ll stand and watch her drive away. We won’t follow. We won’t do a damn thing.”

Hiroshi sighs. “I think this is a mistake, but… fine. We’ll do it your way. I always indulge you so.”

“I indulge myself.” Asami grabs my chin again, and leans close. I can feel her breath on my face, see the tears near to bursting from her eyes. “I hope I never see you again.”


	51. Chapter 51

I see the pain in Asami’s eyes, see her swimming in hidden tears. And I feel the same pain, but I can’t swim in it. I can’t do anything but stand, impassive, and watch as she sends me away. As she saves me, I think. Because that’s what this is. A desperate attempt to get me out of Republic City, a spare bit of driftwood in a swirling storm. But there’s only one, and she’s given it to me. She’s staying behind, never to know the words held behind my lips, maybe forever caged here. Her life, already built on a lie, will continue on and on, until red is the only color she knows. And maybe she’s already past that point. Maybe she was past saving all along. But I don’t think so. I look into her eyes, and past that scar tissue, and I see a beating heart. I imagine how it must ache.

The guards turn me away, and begin to walk. I feel my feet clip the floor, and I feel them find purchase. They turn underneath me, and it’s like I’m free of that current, walking up on land. I turn my head and see Asami behind me, and her eyes twitch forward, telling me to turn back. Telling me to look ahead and only ahead, to save myself. 

She said I meant nothing to her. And so I can’t look. I can’t give proof of that lie. Her actions have already spoken on that enough. She’s killed so many, Asami. Hundreds of people, and hardly any of them could’ve deserved it more than me. The cop, who lived with her. The cop, who kissed her, who slept with her, who dared, in fleeting moments in between heartbeats, to think that-

But no. I choke back the tears. Because the tears are poison. If they see the tears, then they see my anguish, and my longing. And they would know. Or Hiroshi would, at least. He’s a brilliant man, and he would add it all together. Just like his daughter did. A glance at the ceiling, and the knowledge that Sharks is closing… and her mind ran with it, and to the correct destination. They share that mind, if not a heart. 

And so I will show them nothing. I will walk like a condemned prisoner to my execution. Although I’m not that. I’m not that, and it’s all thanks to Asami. 

And in return, I will say nothing. Because if I speak, then I condemn Asami. If I shout out the truth, they’ll shoot me. And I almost don’t mind that. Or I wouldn’t, if I could ensure that Asami would escape all of this. But she’s surrounded too. And once she heard, she would be a target. Her father values her as a tool, but only that. If he thought she might rebel, if she were no longer useful, he would have her shot right here. 

Or maybe… maybe it wouldn’t come to that. Maybe she would be subdued by that wave, the one that dragged me under. I had wanted to fight it, but instead I chose to flow. To accept that my body was not mine. It’s strange to think such a thing, but at the time, it seemed the most plain truth there could ever be. To stand against such a current would mean breaking. To feel the strength of it… I know that. It was as if all of the sea gathered itself and moved as one, like a wave to swallow up my entire world. 

I think of that man, and his eyes. There was something great and terrible within them, but also something familiar. I know that we’ve never met - I’d certainly remember - and yet I can’t shake the feeling of recognition. Of knowing without knowing how, or why. I remember what Asami had said about Kuvira… that she felt like deja vu. Like driving through a town you’ve never been to, and seeing a building you just know you’ve visited. He is walking with us, and he feels like that. 

They take me to my car, and the guards raise their guns. Asami’s face is a mask, all cool porcelain. I see the cracks, but I don’t allow my eyes to trace them.

“You have until morning,” she says. And there is authority in her voice. A heavy threat is carried on those words, but it falls just short of reaching me. “Now go get your things, and get out of my fucking city.”

I nod once, because I think she has the right idea. I should go. I should hop on a boat, and head back South. Or maybe even North. No matter what Asami promises, I don’t think Hiroshi intends on letting me live out my days in peace. I know things. He doesn’t know what, exactly, but I think he has an idea. Otherwise Saikhan wouldn’t have searched me, looking for that gun. And Hiroshi wouldn’t have interrupted our talk - and cut it off… somehow - if he didn’t suspect I might tell her something dangerous. So I could head North, and maybe I’d be safe there. If I didn’t tell anyone who I was, and never wrote home. Those letters could be followed, and anyway, they’d endanger my family. So, no letters. No nothing. A new life, from scratch, if I go.

But as the engine roars to life, beneath the din and clamor, I promise Asami that I’m not leaving. I have tonight, and I’m going use it. I have tonight, and by morning, she’ll have the truth. Somehow.

I set off towards Sharks, and it doesn’t look like I’m being followed. Mine is an easy car to spot, though, so I don’t take even a small measure of comfort in that. If Hiroshi wants to know where I am, he’ll know. I’m driving the blue Satomobile prototype, the one only connections like I had could get you into. And it’s not a subtle car anyway. Made to be seen, heard, and envied. Asami suggested I take it, probably because her father would have insisted anyway. 

Still, driving to Sharks is no mystery. Hiroshi knows that’s where I worked beforehand, and knows that anything I have to pack up is there also. I’d worry about endangering the operation, except there isn’t going to be an operation, after tonight. Bolin will do… something, somewhere. Probably with Opal, if I had to guess. Mako will disappear, hopefully to a new city altogether. I won’t ask either one, because I don’t want to know. If Hiroshi goes back on his word, and I end up seeing the lie in his ‘Satos don’t torture’ line, it’d be best if I don’t have anything to offer up. People can’t beat information out of you that isn’t there in the first place, no matter how hard they hit, or how deep they twist the knife.

That leaves Chief, and I think she’ll be fine. The tunnel will be filled in, and the only remnants will be the door in the basement of Sharks, which is just a vestige of it being along the freightway anyway. I’m not too worried about her, but I am worried about how she’ll react to my failure. I lost the gun, lost Asami, and maybe… lost my nerve? I don’t think that was what happened, but it’s hard to find the words, even in my own mind. Giving voice to them will be tricker business still. ‘Sorry Chief, I fucked up this whole thing after I promised I wouldn’t, because I couldn’t interrupt Asami while she was talking about other things. I just waited until it was too late, and then literally couldn’t control my body. The good news is that I think some part of Asami does still care for me, traitor or not.’ Somehow, I don’t think Chief will be comforted by that. 

Pulling into the parking lot at Sharks, and I guess I’ll find out soon enough. There’s a ‘Closed’ sign on the door, but it’s not locked. I stroll in, and find Mako cleaning up. Bolin is here, helping this time, and Opal is too. 

I put my hand on the back of my head, and approach Mako. “I’m busted.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but, if that’s the case… I’m a little shocked you’re actually alive.”

“Me too. I have until morning. At least, that’s what Asami promised me. She-”

“She gave you an out?”

“Looks that way. Or at least she tried to.”

“Well, that’s good luck. And I’ll wish you more for the trip, wherever you’re going.” 

I glance at Opal, and I don’t think she can hear. “I’m not going anywhere. Not yet, at least.”

“Korra, that’s-”

“Fucking dumb. Suicidal. I know. But I have to do this.”

“For her.” 

It’s not a question, and so I don’t even bother saying yes. The corner of my lip twitches up, and that says enough.

Mako sighs. “Still-”

“Is Chief home?”

“I think so.”

“I’m going to head downstairs. Pack up, if you follow my meaning. I need to talk to her.”

“I’d say.”

I roll my eyes. “Mako?”

“Yeah?”

“Asami knows it was you. On that cliff. I don’t think she’ll try anything, but…”

“I’m already leaving. I’ve got a job-”

I hold up a hand. “Don’t tell me where, or doing what.”

He smirks. “I was going to say ‘elsewhere.’ That’s it. But thanks for the head’s up. Honestly. I’ll be careful.”

I smile and pat him on the shoulder as I walk past. Bolin and Opal are on the other side of the room, and it looks like an earthbender/airbender combination makes for a good cleaning duo. I pause for a moment, and wonder if I should warn Opal about Asami’s suspicions. They could be right, of course. She could be the one behind the Agni Kai attacks, and if that’s the case, she deserves what she gets. But if Bolin’s with her… 

I stop, and turn to him. “You guys aren’t staying here tonight, are you?”

He tilts his head. “No. Why?”

I bite my lip. “It’s better if you don’t know the answer. But I don’t think it’d be safe. In fact, I don’t think-”

“We’ll be fine,” Opal says. And she looks like she means it. Her eyes are both as bright and as hard as her namesake jewel.

I nod, and I figure she’s right. A Beifong probably has a way of ensuring things like that. Maybe holing up with a hundred armed guards, or heading off to the Earth Kingdom. Either way would work, but I’m not suggesting anything. Doesn’t look like she’d listen anyway. 

I head down the stairs, for probably the last time. I find my room and my bed the same as a few hours ago, only without the case files. Thinking back to them, to the words and images contained, and this room looks red now. It’s no longer a bedroom, not for me or anyone else. It’s four walls, that have seen and heard a chronicle of murder. And now they’re about to hear of my failure. 

I sit on the bed, and wait to hear the dirt shift, and the bar move. I wait for Chief to come tell me off, to start shouting, punching walls, shaking this whole damn place. I wait for that, but when Chief comes, it’s with quiet intensity. And that’s worse. 

She stands in front of me, arms crossed. “If you’re back, and without Asami, I’m assuming things didn’t go well.”

“That’s right.”

“Tell me.”

“Well… she figured the cop thing out before I could mention it to her. She knows Bolin’s with Opal, that I’m - or I guess, I was - with her, and that a young male firebender saved us from that Agni Kai hit. Once I mentioned Sharks was closing, she figured Mako must be fleeing, and-”

“I think I got it.”

“But that wasn’t the problem, actually. She did pull a gun on me, but - and maybe this will sound strange - I’m almost used to that by now. And she lowered it anyway. She was ready to listen, when I promised her a way out. I told her if she’d come to Sharks, that would do it. She just had to come with me.”

“But?”

“But we didn’t get that chance. And I didn’t get to tell her why. Her father interrupted, with four guards and… someone else. I couldn’t speak, and-”

“Smart. You’d have made her a target, telling her in front of him. As is, she’s still in play.”

I shake my head. “Maybe it was smart, in hindsight. But I didn’t hold myself back from speaking on purpose. I mean that I couldn’t do it. My jaw wouldn’t move, and I couldn’t so much as groan. My heart was beating, and I was breathing, but… I don’t know.”

Chief shrugs. “You panicked. People lock up all the time, so-”

“That wasn’t it.”

“Kid, you got scared. It happens. No shame in that.”

“I know. But… I wasn’t afraid. I was about as calm as can be, actually. Just resigned, like a leaf being pulled along by a river, drifting on and-”

“I don’t need a fucking poem.”

“I guess not. So what… what do you need? From me? I have until the morning, actually. They’ve given me that long to leave the city.”

“That’s… generous.”

“Asami’s doing.”

“Huh. So she really did have a thing for you.”

I lean forward and stare at the floor, doubling over like those words are a knife to the chest. They feel about like that. 

Chief sighs. “She have the gun?”

“Yes. And I’m sorry. I know how big of a get that was, and I promised-”

“You didn’t count on the interruption. Things happen. Plans change. Shit, plans fail. This one did. We move on.”

“So you’re… not mad?”

“Fucking pissed. But there’s nothing to be done about it now. And… it’s not really so bad. The gun was big, but only in the context of Asami coming to our side. That’s still possible, so long as she has it. I’ll contrive a reason to talk to her, soon enough. Maybe I can bring her around to your way of thinking. If she was ready to go with you - if she really trusted you - then she must know something is rotten. She’s a smart girl.”

“Brilliant,” I whisper. 

Chief sighs, and if rolling eyes made a sound, I imagine I’d hear that too. “You need to go. I won’t ask where, but-”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You said you had until morning. I’m guessing the Satos keep a pretty hard deadline.”

“They’ll kill me, if I’m still here.”

“Then you’d best not be here.”

“I’m not leaving her.”

“Korra, she-”

“She’s sacrificing herself for me. Staying behind and-”

“Then don’t fucking waste that sacrifice. Get out. Go somewhere far away, change your name, change your everything. Go try not to die. That’ll be enough of a challenge.”

“I’m not interested in merely staying alive, Chief. She offered me a way out, and I want to find one for her as well.”

“And you’ve done that. You’ve opened my eyes to the murder, and if I can open her eyes also, then she gets off clean. And you’ve given me Saikhan as well. If you’re right about the depths of his involvement - and given his stop and frisk, I’m inclined to think you are - then he could bring the whole empire crumbling down.”

“And she could get crushed.”

“It’s possible. But you can’t say she deserves better. She’s an unrepentant mass murderer, Korra, a-”

“She’s more sorry than you know. Not that she’d say it. But her life is pain. That’s all it’s ever been, and all she’s ever known. Her life is a violent lie her father told twenty years ago, and yet, that’s the closest thing to truth she knows. Can you really blame her? She never had a chance.”

“Blame? I’m not interested in that. I’m interested in justice. In convictions. In setting an example of what happens when your take advantage of this city. I’m interested in cleaning things up, by any means necessary. Now, if she turns, then I’ll make whatever deal it takes. You have to be realistic about these things, after all. But if she won’t? If, after whatever Saikhan tells me, she stands with her father? Then she’ll go down with him. And I won’t be sorry.”

“I don’t… I don’t know that you’ll get a chance to speak with Saikhan.”

“Excuse me?”

I rub my chin, and stare up at the ceiling. I wonder what Asami sees, when she does this. And I wonder if she’d see the patterns I’m looking at. “Asami talked to Hiroshi about him. She must have mentioned the threats he made, the offers to turn on Hiroshi, to tell her things or to show her things. Now, she spoke with Hiroshi again today. And she mentioned that he met with Saikhan, that it ‘went well,’ so we wouldn’t have to go pay Saikhan a visit. ‘Not soon, and maybe not ever.’ Those were her words.”

“And?”

“Well, Hiroshi knows Saikhan has a thousand things on him. And he knows how damaging some of those could be. So I don’t think he’s just letting him live, on the off chance that Saikhan can redeem himself, or that he might prove incredibly useful. He does have value, for sure. And nominally, that’s why Asami’s supposed to stay away from him. Some good cop, bad cop thing. But that’s too big of a risk for Hiroshi to take. I think he spoke with Saikhan today, trying to get a read on what he knows, and I think that tonight…”

“You think he’s going to kill him.”

“I do.”

Chief rubs her chin. “Sounds possible. I’d feel better if you had something solid.”

“I wouldn’t, actually. If he’s going to off someone as important as Saikhan, who would he send to do it?”

Chief nods. “Asami.”

“And if he was involving Asami, she’d have told me that’s what we were doing tonight. Instead, he’s telling her to stay away. Or at least suggesting it. Now, there’s only one case Saikhan could have information on that he wouldn’t want Asami to see.”

“Of course. But why tonight?”

“Why not? He walked in on an undercover cop, about to say something to his daughter. His daughter, who then proceeded to send this girl away. Now, Asami’s killed plenty of people, like you said. The fact that she didn’t kill me would tell him that, maybe… she did feel something. And if she did, then maybe she would listen to whatever I was saying. He wasn’t there for the entire conversation. For all he knows, I’d already started to turn her against him. Her gun was down, after all. I don’t doubt he noticed that. So again, why chance it? Why not take Saikhan out now? Why not take whatever evidence he has, before Asami has a chance to grow more suspicious? Like you said, she’s smart. She saw the way Saikhan reacted to the gun. She’ll add it up, sooner or later. And knowing her, I’d bet on sooner.”

“And Hiroshi would make that same bet.”

“Exactly. Which would mean… he has to move fast. So Saikhan’s in danger, and maybe soon, so is Asami.”

“That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? You want to know she’s safe, before you leave.”

I lick my lips, and feel a swelling warmth in my chest. Quickly it drops, and twists my stomach in a knot. I’m thinking of what could happen to her, if Hiroshi does begin to suspect his own daughter is a damaged tool. “Yes. I only have tonight, and I worry that she might not have much longer. If I don’t do something.”

Chief wipes a hand across her forehead. “Again, you’ve done plenty. I’ll go talk to him. Not with a warrant, and not trying to search his house for anything. Just as a long time co-worker, suppressing the fact that she feels pretty damn betrayed by a man she trusted for more than two decades.”

“We’ll go talk to him.”

“Are you fucking crazy? You-”

“I’m the one who would know. If it’s just you, he’s going to think it’s some kind of trap. But he knows I was inside that house. He knows I was close to Asami. Take me with you. Take me with you, and let me tell him about the hit they have planned.”

“So what you mean to say is, ‘Let me lie to him?’”

“Is that a problem?”

“Legally? It’s a thousand problems.”

“My entire presence in this city is fucking illegal. You said so yourself. Taking a risk like that… bringing a Water Tribe girl you don’t even know, and giving her your most important undercover job… that tells me nothing conventional has worked… that tells me you’re desperate, taking a risk like that. Why not take one more? And shit, it's barely even a risk for you. If Saikhan says no, what then? Hiroshi knows you're a clean cop? He knows I'm undercover? The worst that can happen is I stick around a little too long, make a little too much trouble, and get myself killed. But that's my problem, not yours.”

Chief bites her lip, and swallows.

“You said you wanted justice, right? By any means necessary? Well, he can give you that. But not if he’s dead.”

Chief sighs, and throws up her hands. “Fuck it. You always wanted to be a real Republic City cop, right? Well… I’ll see if I have something in your size. Come on. We’re taking my car.”


	52. Chapter 52

People say you can tell a lot about a person, by how they keep their house. And while I don’t know about that, I’m not sure even those people could tell much by Chief’s place. There’s just not much to go on. White walls, closing off barest essentials from the world. A chair here, a couch there, and a radio. None of it bothers to match, and none of it is really even facing the right direction. Like she just set it all in place, years ago, just to keep up appearances. And she’s never bothered with any of it since. I think that’s probably pretty close to the truth, actually. Because it’s all in stark contrast to her basement, which is full up with a thousand different things, chronicles of every crime - or every crime she knows of, at least - in Republic City. My guess is, just about every hour she spends in this house, she spends down there.

And there I go, figuring I know something about her. Or her habits, at least. Because I’m walking through her house, I can pretend to know the person that owns it. It’s stupid to assume things like that. You can get awfully close to a person - maybe even start to fall for them - without really even knowing who they are. So right now, Chief is Chief. My boss. She’s getting me something to wear, and we’re going to work. That’s all I need to know.

Chief stops outside a door. “I’ll be back in a second.”

I put up a hand, before she can enter. “Wait, can’t I-”

“No.”

“But it would really be-”

“No.”

I tilt my head and put my hands up in surrender. “Just find me something good.”

Chief goes through the door and I stand on the other side, waiting, feeling a bit like that day at the Sato place, when Asami went in her room, and came back out with eyes that were the wrong shade of green. Only this time it's me who’s getting a disguise, flimsy as it might be. Putting an undercover cop in a regular cop outfit… that’s really just hiding in plain sight. Or trying to. At least we’ll be driving. I’ll duck down in the passenger seat, and hope. Granted, hope won’t stop a bullet. And it sure as shit won’t stop a few hundred. But if it’s all you’ve got, you don’t turn it away.

Chief comes back out, awfully quick, and shoves a whole mess of clothes into my hands. I open my mouth, but she just points to a door at the other end of the hallway, and so I set to walking, then to changing.

The bathroom is about as sparse and utilitarian as the rest of the house, but does still have a mirror. So that’s where I’m looking, tilting the helmet on my head back and forth. I knock my hand against it, and feel the thud reverberate through my skull. Can’t imagine how much good a metal helmet might do, if you’re not a metalbender. But the cloth hanging down from the side… it’ll at least cover my face a little bit. And it’s not like that’s the only metal on this thing anyway. The shoulder guards are gleaming steel, which might come in handy if I have to tackle someone. And the boots, even, are plated with the same. If someone tries to kick me in the shin - which, in fairness, does really hurt - I’m covered. Otherwise? I don’t know. The rest of the uniform is just a uniform, really, though somewhat unlike any I’ve seen worn on the streets. Lighter gray cloth extends below the waist on the front and the back, covering darker gray pants, which I’ve tucked into my boots. There’s a similarly darker piece around my chest - this too feels hard, but I think it’s synthetic, not metal - and a badge stuck right there. I find my hand drifting towards it, touching it, just to see if it’s real. It is, and yet it isn’t. Because while it’s really there, it’s not really mine. How could it belong to somebody who’s nobody? That’d be quite the trick.

I take a deep breath, place my hands on the sink, and look deep into my own eyes. Because that’s not true. I know who I am, and I’m not nobody. No matter the chaos I’ve endured this last week, I haven’t lost myself. I’m not gone. I’m still here. I’m still here… Asami.

I open the door, and see Chief standing there, her fist raised.

“About to knock?”

“You were taking a while.”

“Lots of layers. What is this, anyway? I don’t think I’ve seen anyone wearing it before.”

She smirks. “That’s a good thing, as far as you’re concerned. It’s worn by a select group, for select jobs. You don’t want to see them.”

I cross my arms, and raise an eyebrow. “So I’m elite, huh?”

“You’re playing dress-up. It’s what I had around.”

“In my size.”

“Exactly. Don’t get any ideas. You’re not special.”

“And here I thought leaders were supposed to be complimentary to their underlings, inspiring them to greatness, and-”

“And here I thought we were in a hurry, trying to save your crime lord girlfriend.”

I’m grateful for that cloth on the helmet already. It covers my cheeks, and so Chief can’t see my blushing. But she can see my eyes easily enough. I know, because they’re looking right into hers.

She smiles - really smiles - and narrows her eyes. “That’s more like it.”

\-----

Chief’s car has tinted windows, and I’m glad for that. Combined with my slouching, and most of my face being covered from the side, I don’t figure anyone driving by will recognize me. Maybe that’s too many precautions, but then again, maybe there’s no such thing. I don’t think anyone would stop and shoot up the Chief of Police’s car, but there’s got to be a reason her windows are so dark. So maybe they would, if they knew it was her. Maybe they’d at least think about it, and it’s best not to give them that thought.

“Hey, Chief?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you do that bullet bending trick?”

“That what? Oh, right. I get it. And yes. Sort of. My sister’s probably a little better at it than I am, though I’d never say that to her face. And if what people say about Kuvira is true-”

“It is.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Doesn’t matter. She’s as good as they say. Maybe better. Hyperbole might not even be possible.”

Chief’s head nods side to side. “I suppose you have had a demonstration, haven’t you?”

“The shootout at Raiko’s, when she and Asami… yeah. And actually once before that. When we first met her. She trains it. Stands against a wall, and has her people fire right at her.”

“That would explain her proficiency. It’s also vaguely… suicidal? Not quite that. And I do see the practical implications. But still. That’s fucking crazy.”

I shrug. “It is crazy. But it works. If she knows you’re shooting at her, you’re not going to hit her. But I have seen her shot, actually. On the cliff, while we were meeting, she actually got hit. She and I both.”

“Really?”

“Really. The snipers, again. So she wasn’t ready. Honestly, I don’t know how she even knew to bend those bullets at all. There’s no way to tell when those rifles are being fired, and I can’t imagine she saw anything. Which means…”

“Your bias is showing. You can sense water, I'm sure, without exactly knowing it's there. Metal is the same. And if she trains with bullets, she probably knows that feeling really well. Still, you’re thinking she ordered the attack?”

“Could be.”

“You were hit, right?”

“In the leg.”

“If she ordered the attack, don’t you think that bullet would’ve ended up going in one side of your head, then out the other?”

“I don’t… maybe? Maybe she just wants Asami to trust her, and that was a way of demonstrating that she deserves it.”

“Or maybe it’s way, way more simple than you’re making it. A lot of things are a conspiracy, but not everything is. We know about the snipers at the shootout, and how they worked with something like a united Triad force. And I know about that Agni Kai attack on the cliff. Now, maybe the Agni Kai told their Triad friends about that location, and their Triad friends told whoever the fuck you tell to get those airbender snipers to show up. So maybe those snipers just keep… how many was it?”

“Two.”

“Maybe they were just rotating a couple there, right at that spot, hoping Asami would show back up, sooner or later. And she did, pretty damn soon.”

I shake my head. “You’ve got two shooters, with Asami, Kuvira, and myself as targets. Kuvira was hit first, in her left shoulder. Would’ve hit her right in the heart, I think, if she hadn’t bent it a little. The second bullet hit me in the back of my leg. Now, Kuvira had half a second to prepare to bend this bullet, so who knows where it would’ve hit me otherwise. But regardless, they shouldn’t have been aiming at me anyway. Not with Asami right there.”

Chief laughs. “Who says they were aiming at you?”

“But-”

“You said Kuvira’s pretty damn good at that bullet bending business, right? Well, maybe they were aiming for Asami, and-”

“And she made the bullet hit me?”

Chief bangs her fist against the steering wheel, and she’s just about lost it, she's laughing so hard. “You said she and Asami were a thing, right? Well, old things don’t usually like the new things too much. Maybe that dislike isn’t strong enough to merit killing, but maybe it’s strong enough to merit a bullet to the leg. A nice little way to say what she really thinks of you, without saying anything at all.”

“Well… maybe. But she’s never been shy about saying what she thinks of me. At Raiko’s place, she implied I was an escort, called me Asami’s bitch, and then a dirty fucking bitch. And right after that shooting at the cliff, when I sort of implied that she might have been behind it, she mentioned taking a metal rod and skullfucking the eyes right out of my head.”

“That’s… a new phrase to my ears. But nonetheless, I think things are pretty clear.”

“How’s that?”

“She doesn’t like you.”

“I got that much, actually. Even apart from your theory on her getting me shot, just as a ‘fuck you’. But thanks, Chief. Really.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I wasn’t-”

“We’re here.”

I feel the car slowing, and sit up, so I can actually look around. It’s a fine neighborhood. But just fine. Nothing past that. I remember what Asami said, about how much the Sato family has paid Saikhan, and I wonder if he could actually afford this entire city block. I’d have to guess that he could, and maybe a few more besides. But she did also say he’s done a good job of hiding his wealth, and this area speaks to that as well. Knowing what I know, it’s speaking in a hushed whisper, but right into my ear. Knowledge, clear to me, unknown to anyone else nearby.

Except Chief, of course. She knows now. And she doesn’t look happy about it. Not that she ever looks happy exactly, but there’s a depth of anger in her eyes I haven’t seen before. Betrayal will do that to a person. It’ll crawl right beneath your skin, and spread. Spread, until it’s a festering mass, near to bursting from every part of you.

I think of Kuvira, and the daggers in her eyes. The threat inherent in every look, word, or movement.

But I also think of Asami… and there wasn’t any of that. There was a flash of anger, for sure. But that passed quickly, and then there was only hurt and sadness. And although she did pull a gun on me, I’m almost used to that, by now. If we get past all this, down the road, maybe pulling a gun could sort of become our thing. Our own little gesture that’ll scare the shit out of anyone else nearby, so maybe don’t try it on dinner dates, but-

But this isn’t the time to think about that. Maybe never’s the time to think about it, because maybe never’s when that’s going to happen. Looking across the street at Saikhan’s home, thinking - really thinking - about what the fuck I’m wading into… it’s a little hard to imagine anything past tonight. And maybe it’s presumptuous to think she’d want that anyway. She cared enough to send me away, to try to save my life. But caring that much, and caring enough to be with a person… those are two very different things.

But even still, I can’t forget that pain in her eyes… you don’t hurt like that without an equal feeling in the opposite direction. You just don’t. I know, because I know how much I’m hurting right now, and why.

Chief opens her door. “You ready?”

“I… yes.”

“Have your gun ready. And any water weapons you’ve got.”

One of my hands drifts to my gun, and the other to a couple glass vials, full of water. “Ok, but… why?”

“Did you notice that Satomobile in the back alley?”

“Of course.” I didn’t, but I figure that sounds better than admitting to where my head actually was.

“Then you know why.”

Chief steps out of the car, and I follow. I try to lean my head forward a little, so my face is covered. You’d only recognize me if you were looking head on, and all the windows here are closed and covered, so nobody’s got that view right now.

Chief walks up the front steps, and runs a hand through her hair, clenching at the top of her head. “It’s times like these that I wish everyone still had dirt floors.”

“So we could just tunnel right in?”

“Well, that would be nice. Though I happen to know that Saikhan - like me - has platinum mixed in with the concrete that forms the foundation of his house. So we couldn’t do that anyway.”

“So what, then?”

“Oh it’s just… almost not worth mentioning, since it’s not going to happen. But if whoever’s in there happened to be standing on dirt - or even something close - I could tell you how many there are, where they’re situated, all of that.”

“That would be useful.”

“Exactly. Don’t you almost wish I hadn’t said anything at all?”

“Almost, maybe. But we can pretty well guess at the numbers. You wouldn’t pack more than four people in a Satomobile, and if Saikhan’s here, that makes five. If it’s some kind of trap, all five will be against us. If they’re here to kill him, then maybe Saikhan would help. And that assumes they haven’t already killed him, which is certainly possible. So…” I laugh a little, under my breath. “Maybe we should just call the cops, huh?”

“This was your idea, kid.”

“Well, judging by the car out back, and your suspicions regarding it, maybe it’s not such a bad idea.”

“Didn’t say it was.”

“But you didn’t say it was a good idea either.”

Chief smirks. “That’s not really in my vocabulary.” She pulls a small metal rod out of her pocket, and slides it on the front door’s lock. I see her other hand moving, and although I can’t see that metal warping to press down each of the pins, I’m certain that’s what’s happening. She turns to me. “Of course, ‘locked’ isn’t in my vocabulary either.” Her wrist turns, and so does the nob.

I pull out one of my vials, and nod. She swings the door open with one hand, and sweeps her gun across the gap with the other. I’m aiming mine as well, and throw the vial. It shatters, and to the right of it, from what looks like it might be a living room, there’s a voice. “The fuck was that?” There are footsteps. Two feet only, it sounds like. Heavy boots walking across hardwood flooring.

A man in black pants and a white dress shirt steps over the shattered remains of the vial. The collar is open and the sleeves are rolled up, and really, maybe the shirt isn’t actually white at all. There’s almost too much red to say that. It’s almost enough to think that the man’s been shot, but there’s no obvious wound on him. Just a splatter. He kneels, and picks up a piece of the glass, then turns, and his eyes find us in the doorway.

“Let him fire first, if he wants to,” whispers Chief.

And it damn sure looks like he wants to. His right hand flashes, and the sound of gunfire splits the air. But the bullets don’t reach us. Instead, they hit a wall of concrete that Chief’s pulled up from the front steps, blocking the doorway. She lowers it just enough to return fire, and I follow her lead. The man’s shirt quickly grows a deeper, darker red. This time, it’s spreading, and it’s coming from deep within. He falls, but three guns set to firing in his absence. Chief raises the wall again, and nods once at me.

She lowers it the smallest bit, not even enough to see, and we both start firing over the top. Just enough to dissuade them from firing, or at least from doing so comfortably. A few rounds of that, and she lowers the wall further, so that I can see. My eyes find the water, and I reach out to it. I am its only current, and so it whips into a torrent at a thought, carrying shards of glass. It’s a hurricane, slashing and slicing until the sound of three bodies hitting the floor sounds out. I exhale, and the water - now a deep red - falls to the ground.

Chief takes the first steps inside, and I follow. It’s a bloody scene, and I don’t want to look. But there’s nowhere else to put your eyes. You kill three people like that, and it gets everywhere. A damn painful way to go, I figure. A death by a thousand cuts. I didn’t hear any screams, but then when you’re submerged deep enough, no sound penetrates. And I must’ve been pretty deep. Because looking at their shredded bodies, mouths agape, eyes - in the cases that eyes remain - wide… they were screaming. They must have been.

I’ve wondered, in the past, if killing ever gets easier. Or if you ever just get harder. And maybe neither of those things are true. Maybe this is how it goes. Maybe you just silence the things you don’t want to hear. Maybe it’s just a creeping numbness, an absence of feeling. Maybe that’s what it’s like. I don’t want to know, but I’m learning anyway. This city’s teaching me, and it’s not asking permission.

“Shit,” says Chief.

I pull myself up out of the blood, and follow her eyes to Saikhan. At least I think it’s him. Or it was him. Might be more accurate. Because the body that’s there, there’s no life left in it. He’s face down, with a couple holes in the back of his head. And although I can’t see the front, I can imagine the exit wounds.

I close my eyes, and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Maybe Hiroshi rushed things a little more than I even guessed.”

“Maybe he guessed that you’d guess.”

“Or at least, he figured there wasn’t any reason to risk waiting.”

Chief sighs. “Either way…”

“We’re too late.”

“For Saikhan, yes. But given what you’ve told me about him, I’d be lying if I said this end didn’t feel almost… poetic. Killed by Hiroshi, and by his secrets. And about those secrets, I’d say we’re right on time.”

I open my eyes, and find an opening on the wall. A piece of metal, pulled apart. And I understand what Chief’s talking about. It’s a safe, like in Kuvira’s place. If you’re a metalbender, a combination lock is really less secure than just having a solid sheet that doesn’t open unless you - or one of the handful of others who could bend it - decides to open it. The way Saikhan’s body is laying there… they told him to open the safe, or they’d kill him. Then, when he opened it, they killed him anyway. I’d say he deserved better, but I’m probably closer to agreeing with Chief. Especially since the safe isn’t empty. There’s a briefcase there, looking simple enough, like the sort of thing you’d see a thousand men and woman carrying on their way to work in the morning. But this one’s heavier than all of those combined. In it, there’s Hiroshi Sato’s fate.

Chief steps right over Saikhan’s prone body, and grabs the case. She walks back in my direction, then stops over one of the dead assassins, and bends a set of car keys out of their pocket. She tosses them to me. “Go.”

“Don’t I need to see what’s in the case?”

“Look around you. All this blood… it’s big.” She shakes the briefcase, and I think it sounds like there’s something bouncing around inside. “Maybe even something small.”

I bite my lip. “But Chief, your own force-”

“I wouldn’t trust half my own force to piss on me if I was on fire. I certainly don't trust them enough to be involved with this. But I'll call some people I do trust. Then I'll call the cops, and we'll get this investigation going. I’m sure-”

“You were sure about Saikhan.”

“I’m more sure about these people.”

“Chief, you fucking better be. This is-”

“You don’t need to tell me how important this is. I know. And maybe it would be safer to keep you around. But I can’t do that. You’re not a real fucking cop, remember? But I dressed you up like one, and then we busted this whole thing up together. Now, I’m grateful. Really. But you cannot be here when the real investigation starts. That would invalidate me.” She knocks a hand against the briefcase. “Which means it could invalidate this. Now you don’t want that, do you?”

“Of course not. But-”

“No fucking buts, kid. Don't worry about me. I just found the bodies like this. Maybe a waterbender did it. Who knows? Syndicates are violent, messy business. Never can tell who's killing who. You just go back to Sharks, pack your things, and get out of town.” I open my mouth, and she holds up a hand. “I know you’re worried about Asami. But you’ve done everything you can. Now you just have to survive. And if you stay in this city, you won’t. So go back home for a bit. Take a little vacation. Shit, you more than deserve it. Once Hiroshi goes to trial, maybe things will be safe enough, and you can come back.” She smirks. “Or maybe Asami will just come visit.”

I want to argue, if only on principle, but I can’t. She’s right. What she’s got there… it’s worth more than anything I could say, or anything else I could do. I don’t know what’s inside exactly, but whatever it is, it adds up to form the skeleton of a new life for Asami. And looking around at all this blood, I can’t help but think I’d like a fresh start myself. I’d like to be clean of all of this. I’m not sure that’s even possible, but damn, I’d like to try. Still, I can't leave the city. Not quite yet. There's just one thing I have to do first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And justice is achieved. The end!
> 
> Or, y'know, maybe it's not that easy.


	53. Chapter 53

Driving away from Saikhan’s, the sky is a flat, thin grey, extending down to the streets as an almost incidental fog. The kind that sits just on the surface of things, like a sheet of dust on a desk that hasn’t been used in too long. Just a swipe of the hand, and it would be gone. But you never really sit there anyway, and it would be a mess to just wipe it off like that. So you promise to get back to it later, when you’re actually cleaning, and have the supplies for it.

The air is like that. Obscuring, but only just. You can still see the shape of things though, and still make out the way forward. It’s only a mystery if you’re not paying attention. And I am. I know what I have to do, and it’s the same reason I went to Saikhan’s in the first place: I have to save Asami. I have to save her from this fucking city, this fucking life, and her fucking scumbag weaselsnake excuse for a father.

And that’s where things get a little less clear. Hiroshi would probably rather keep his daughter alive, all things being equal, if only because she’s a valuable weapon. People know her, and they fear her. And if they don’t, then she can give them a damn good reason to consider starting. “I’m Asami Fucking Sato” usually does the trick. So he wouldn’t get rid of her for no reason. But then, he’s been given a reason. Asami flashed that right before his eyes, when she pulled her platinum gun on Kuvira. And when Hiroshi saw her with that gun at her hip, rather than pointed between my eyes, that gave him another reason. His daughter not only had the gun that could blow away his empire, she was perhaps showing an inclination towards disloyalty. Signs of affection for an admitted undercover cop can’t really look like much else, no matter what Asami did to cover them. She’s good with disguises, but there was no hiding her intent in sending me away.

And that, Hiroshi Sato can’t abide. Never could tolerate even a hint of disloyalty, I don’t think. Whatever Yasuko Sato called the police about those twenty years ago… well, I can’t be sure. But I bet there’s something about it in that briefcase. And I bet it wasn’t a complaint about shadows on the perimeter of the estate. She saw something, heard something, or maybe just suspected something. Thought her husband was going down a dark path. Probably, she had talked to him about it. Probably, she had tried to turn him away. But when that failed, she reached out for help, and she got bullets instead. It wasn’t fair, but then fair’s never had much to do with anything around here, I don’t think. People get what they get, and ‘deserve’ doesn’t get invited. I don’t think that’s any different now. So while it would be fair for Hiroshi to go down, for Asami to turn on him, and get a fresh start at life… there’s no promise of that.

No promise, except for the one Asami saw in me, that trust she spoke of. I wonder if she sees it now, or if it’s just smoldering ruin. I don’t know, but I can’t ask unless I see her. And I need to do that. I need to see her, so that I can speak to her. And I need to know she still trusts me, so I can tell her what Chief has… even if I don’t know what that is, exactly. Mostly, I need to tell her that Hiroshi’s moving fast, that he’s already killed Saikhan, and so she needs to get somewhere safe.

I don’t know that you could fortify anyplace to be safe from the kinds of numbers Hirosi could throw at a problem, so the only way to be safe is to hide. And Asami can do that. She’s done it before. Just disappear behind a set of false eyes, a foreign tongue, a second skin. If he’s looking for Asami, then be someone else. Anyone else. It only has to work for a night, maybe two. Then, Chief can bring that briefcase crashing down on Hiroshi Sato, and crush that miserable fuck beneath the weight of his past. So long as Asami can dodge her’s… that’s all I want.

And even if I don’t know how to get that exactly, I think I know where to start looking. The Red Raven. And there’s something right about that, I think. I saw her there at the beginning, when she was nothing but a myth made flesh, a picture of burning fear and savage beauty, kissed by crimson. And now, perhaps, I’ll see her there at the end of all this, when she’s so much more than any superlatives could convey. She’ll hide in plain sight. Where the concentration of public eyes and ears will protect her. Hiroshi wouldn’t try anything there, no matter how bad he might want to. People would know, and people would talk. “Did you hear? Hiroshi killed his own daughter. The horror! The scandal!” It would be bad for business. And if you can truly say Hiroshi loves one thing, it’s his business. Adding to it, expanding it, and protecting it. He’d hurt anything to aid in that pursuit, but wouldn’t lift a finger that might tarnish it. So if Asami’s there, I think she’ll be safe. Which means she’ll be there, tonight.

Which means that I need to be there as well. And there’s really no trick to it. Just walk right up to the front door, and hope against all reason and common sense that I’m on the list. If I am, I head in. Maybe she listens, and we run off and hide somewhere. Maybe she listens, then puts a bullet in my head. Or maybe she just skips the talking, and goes straight for the bullet. There would be a certain symmetry in that as well, one final pistol pressed to the forehead, and then… nothing but the vast, gaping maw of eternity. Or whatever death’s like. I hope I don’t find out tonight, but every second I spend in this city is another step closer to that reality. Of course, that’s the only path forward, the only way the current flows. And so that’s the way I’m going. Towards Asami, and that crimson sunset.

But I sure as shit can’t go dressed like a cop, and so I’m headed for Sharks first. I’ll pack up, just like Chief told me to. But only one suitcase, and then I’m not headed for the docks. I’ll change into something that won’t stand out at the Red Raven… but then, if I’m on the list, they’ll know who I am anyway. For better, worse, or all the red space in between. So there’s really no sense in being subtle. They’ll know me regardless, so I might as well wear the same damn dress I did the last time I went there. And I think that’s exactly what I’m going to do. At least I know it fits.

The door to Sharks still says the place is closed, but the door itself is still open. I walk in and hear footsteps coming up from the bar, and see Mako appear from the stairwell.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says.

“You’re really not one to talk.”

“Listen, this place means a lot to me. I mean, it’s a dump. But it’s my dump, you know? You, on the other hand… what’s here for you?”

“In this city? Just one more thing.”

“Korra, you can’t honestly-”

“I can, and I will.”

“That’s insane.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve got until morning, right? That’s what they said. If you’re not gone by then, they’ll kill you.”

“And it’s not even dark yet.”

“Do you really believe Hiroshi Sato will give you that long?”

“Not likely.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing? Just going off to die?”

“No.” I smile, and burst into laughter. “You know, the last mover I saw before leaving my home, and heading up here… it ended with the detective saying something about going off to see if he was even still alive.”

“You weren’t actually going to answer me that way, were you?”

“I thought about it.”

“Korra, this isn’t funny.”

“I agree.”

“Then why are you still laughing?”

“Why? Fuck if I know. Maybe I’m laughing because it’s the best I can do right now. Maybe I’m laughing because I’ve realized the fragility and absurdity of life, and I’m just going to throw mine away. Maybe I’m laughing because I’m more afraid than I’ve ever been, and I’m grasping at whatever small comfort I can. Maybe I’m laughing because I’m just an inconsolable killer now, and I’m going to tear apart the Sato syndicate with my own hands, then carry Asami away on my shoulders. Fuck, Mako. I don’t know. And I don’t have to. I’m just laughing.”

“Just like that?”

“Exactly.”

“And you’re going to her.”

“Yes.”

“Korra, you-”

“Don’t ask my to justify it, rationalize it, or to find even a shred of sense in this mess. Don’t tell me it’s stupid, or dangerous, or that I’m going to get killed. I know all that. And it’s not that I don’t care, it’s just that… I have to do this. I don’t need you to understand.”

“That’s good, because I don’t. She’s a murderer, Korra. I know-”

“You don’t.”

“Ok, you’re right. I don’t know. But-”

“No buts, kid.” I laugh again, because my impression of Chief really isn’t very good. Mako doesn’t look much like laughing, regardless.

“If you’re going, then you’re going. I’ll be on my way in a minute. So… we probably don’t need to say another goodbye.”

“How many have we had now, exactly? I’m losing count.”

Mako shrugs. “Enough.”

I nod. “Enough.”

His footsteps trail off in the opposite direction mine are taking me, the heavy police boots sounding out a deep rhythm on these stairs. It’s the last time I’ll go down them, and this time there’s no mistake. Really, there can’t be. Good or bad, I’m not coming back. Maybe I’d get nostalgic, but I’m too occupied with other emotions.

Anxiety and elation and fear and a thousand other things swarm and swirl together, forming some poison cocktail that I never had a chance to reject. I drank it down the second I arrived in this place, swallowing it with my first gulp of Republic City air, and it’s been fermenting ever since. But if I never had a choice, then there’s no cause for anxiety. It’s there, and I’m here, and I can’t change it. And so I focus on the present, on the task at hand. I’m packing up clothes, just stuffing things in a suitcase, then throwing these cop things on the floor, and pulling on that dress. This is the only way forward, and so I’ll turn and walk into that burning darkness.

The stairs sound different on the way up. Faint, registering the light press of soft heeled flats, moving slowly, balancing me as I bring the suitcase up. I figure most girls dressed like this don’t have to carry their own bags, but then I don’t mind. I’ve got heavier things on my shoulders and on my mind, and so the brief indulgence of physical exertion - however trivial - provides some kind of distraction, if not outright relief.

I hear Mako downstairs still, and I don’t call out to him. He’ll hear the door, and in any case, we’ve had more than our share of goodbyes. He was right about that. So I let this one pass without words, and the only things to speak are my feet on the floor, the door shutting, and then my car starting. I don’t know what all that says to him, but to me, all things lead back to Asami. All words, sounds, thoughts, everything.

Soon enough, I’ll join those things on that same trajectory. I’ll take a circuitous route to the Red Raven, really let the curtain of night fall. And that should be safe enough, driving a black hard top Satomobile, with the windows rolled up. It’s not what Hiroshi or his people will expect, and so, even if they are looking for me, they’ll be looking for the wrong color of Satomobile. Their eyes will be trained on blue, the color of my prototype. And that thing’s still parked at Sharks. A place that, by now, had better damn well be deserted. But in any case, I won’t be there. I’ll be pulling into Asami’s bar, right under their noses. And then I’ll simply walk right in the front door, and tell her the plain truth. It’s the simplest plan you could ever want, but damn sure not the easiest. Funny how those things never seem to go together. Funny, but I’m not laughing.

The fog is dissipating now, slowly clearing out of the Republic City streets. Maybe it heard you don’t want to wander these streets at night, and decided anywhere else was a better place to be. Probably smart, or at least, smarter than me. Still, the streetlights reflect off the moist pavement, and give the impression that I’m driving across the starry night sky itself. But as I look up in between the sprawling skyscrapers, reaching forever upwards, I don’t see any stars. They call it light pollution, but I don’t know. Maybe the stars are just going somewhere nicer for the night. The only audience we have is the moon, so bright and big I could almost reach out and caress the pockmarks, and carve out another divot myself. I close my eyes at a stoplight, lean back in my seat, and inhale.

But I can’t exhale. I can’t open my mouth to breath out again. Choking on my own breath, the pressure building, I’m suddenly aware of my depth. I’m under, and so far. How did I not notice? How did I fail to see that surface drifting away, that dying light? Everything is tight now, constricting, and it’s building, building, until suddenly, there is a release. I rocket to the surface, and feel my body explode back into sensation. I gasp, double over, and open my eyes.

Everything is black. I feel a drawstring tighten around my neck, feel it burn and cut and so I start to twist my head. Something strikes me then, first in the temple, then across the jaw. There’s a ringing in my ears, and then the sound dies as something strikes the back of my head. I fall forward, and my knees hit pavement. My hands are pulled behind me, and something cold and sharp cuts into my wrists, then pinches shut around them. The next strike hits me like a wave of absence, like something too sudden for pain to register. But my head snaps back, and it’s like I’m tumbling, spinning, into a searing white light. It burns, and I burn, and everything does, until it’s all gone, and the only thing left is a cold, uncaring darkness.

\-----

The light burns my eyes, as I try to make sense of the blurry shapes in front of me, and the throbbing agony on the back of my head. I try to reach up and touch the offending location, but but my hands are bound. Even trying to move them, I feel something sharp press up against my skin. Handcuffs. And my legs are immobilized as well, cuffed to the chair in which I’m sitting.

The shapes wobble, then tighten to become men and women, dressed in black, and for red work. Each holds a Sato submachine gun, and every barrel is pointed my way. The light doesn’t extend far, but I can make out… ten. I think. Ten submachine guns. I try to move my legs, and then my arms, and there’s nothing for it. Doesn’t much matter anyway. If I got free, what could I do, except die with my arms extended?

There’s a ping, the sound of metal against concrete, sounding out a slow funeral march. It begins far away, echoing in what must be a very large building. But as it comes closer, it hastens. I find the source of the noise in Hiroshi Sato’s hands, as he comes into the light: A metal pipe.

I spit, and there’s a red splatter on the concrete floor. “I thought Satos didn’t torture?”

He shrugs, and reaches up, grabbing the single light bulb. With one flick of his wrist, the bulb is set spinning on the cord from which it hangs, casting an arc of light around the room. It is big. A warehouse once, I think. But now it may as well be barracks, for all the armed soldiers in it. I’d guess thirty, but then I’m probably not much for accurate guessing, right now.

Hiroshi catches the bulb. “There are a lot of people here. Only one with the name Sato. But-” He holds up a finger. “It may not come to that. Or at least, it needn’t. To be clear as to where we stand, you will die regardless. That is an immutable fact. But it could be a quick, clean death. Or it could be… something quite the opposite. It really is up to you. Simply tell me the location of the briefcase.”

I lick my lips, and taste copper. The briefcase? The one from Saikhan’s? Chief had it, and she was giving it to… trusted people. Who they are, I don’t know. And that’s for the best. Because he can’t beat information out of me that I never had in the first place.

I crack a big, mischievous smile, and show Hiroshi my teeth. They must be stained red now, and maybe even cracked. But let him see. And let him see that I don’t care. “I have no fucking clue.”

He taps the pipe on the ground. “Let me narrow it down for you. Police Chief Beifong has been arrested-”

“The fuck? For what?”

Now he smirks. “Tampering with evidence, regarding-”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

“Of course I do. She may only spend tonight in the tank, before everything is cleared up as a big misunderstanding. But then, you won’t last the night anyway, will you?”

I try to swallow, but the blood caking my throat makes it hard.

“As for your former housemates… we have them too. The bastard brothers, each arrested for their speakeasy business. That too will result in nothing but a nominal fine, and I imagine they’ll be released in the morning. But then, you won’t last until the morning, will you?”

Hiroshi walks forward, and presses the pipe against my shin. It’s cold, but as I meet his eyes, I think they’re colder still.

“We’ve searched Sharks, and Chief Beifong’s house. And though the latter provided us with certain items of interest, we did not find the briefcase. Now, I can only assume that you, dressed thusly, were headed for the Red Raven. To see my daughter.”

“You don’t deserve to call her that. You’re not a fucking father. You-”

“I know full well what I have done, and what I remain capable of doing. I don’t need to be educated on those points, but thank you. The point is, I must assume you have that briefcase hidden away somewhere. Though it was not in that car. The plan was to fetch my daughter - or Asami, if you prefer - and abscond with her. You would show her the evidence, turn her against me, and-”

“And she would ruin you.”

“She would try.”

“Don’t pretend you’re above doing the same, Hiroshi. You’d kill her-”

“Of course I would. And I have already.” I gasp, and it’s as if a frozen knife appears in my heart. Hiroshi laughs, and he holds up a hand. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to give you a start. I don’t mean to say that I’ve killed her already. She remains, so far as I know, very much alive. And at the Red Raven, as you assumed.”

The cold sensation melts, and washes away. I breath again, and run my mind back over the previous days. The snipers… no. That would’ve started a war, shooting Kuvira. And Hiroshi prefers to avoid direct conflict. He also prefers to gain other things, when killing. As he did with his wife. His wife, who was killed by… “The Agni Kai… again?”

He smiles. “It worked once.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re not in a position to influence my self worth.”

I shake my head. “The gun wasn’t enough, was it? That was the trigger, to be sure. But you saw a chance at more money, and that, that’s what drives everything you do. The Beifongs wouldn’t be so stupid as to arm killers with their new weapons… that would be the easiest thing to trace back to them. And that was the deal, wasn’t it? They could kill Asami, so long as they shot up her body with those rifles. Saikhan would investigate, either find or pretend to find proof that the Beifong family ordered the hit, and you’d have all of them in prison.”

Hiroshi bounces his head back and forth. “Not bad. Halfway there. You forget Varrick, however. Those were his guns. So I wouldn’t just get the Beifongs… I’d bust the world’s biggest entertainment mogul for illegally distributing arms.”

“And then you’d buy his company for coppers.”

“Relatively speaking, yes.”

I bite my lip. “And so, what? You stole a case of them? And who met with the Agni Kai? I can’t imagine they’d knowingly make another deal with you. Not after last time. So they’d have to believe this was someone turning on the Satos, providing them with arms… and who is more trustworthy than a sweet old lady?”

Hiroshi just laughs. “We did intercept a shipment, yes. And about the old lady…” he shrugs.

“Fucking Sama.”

“Oh, you did guess the name. Well, I have to say, Korra, it seems you do know an awful lot. But I’m not really interested in things I already know. What I’d like to know is the location of that briefcase. And you’re going to tell me.”

I shake my head. “I won’t.”

“In case it wasn’t clear, your friends - or the closest things you have, anyway - cannot help you. I control the police - shit, I even have the dispatcher tonight - and so they will not help you either. That leaves… who? Asami? One girl, who has no idea where you are? That’s your hope?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“Who said anything about hope? You’ll hurt me, and you’ll kill me. I’ve accepted that. But it’s over, Hiroshi. I won’t tell you a thing. No matter how much pain-”

“There are other methods.”

The voice comes from the darkness, but resonates in the deepest parts of my mind. It speaks as my own, commanding, and I feel the currents swell around me. The man steps from the shadows, but the darkness clings to him like burnt sugar.

He holds up a syringe. “Sodium thiopental. Colloquially, you will know it as ‘truth serum’. And that, of course, is a foolish name. A useless fiction. But the thing itself is useful despite that hyperbole, suppressing higher cortical functions, thus rendering this iron will of yours more... pliable.” He kneels in front of me, and turns to Hiroshi. “I prefer space.” Hiroshi backpedals, so fast he nearly trips. The man faces me again, and leans in very close. I feel the waves move with him. “My name is Noatak, and I am a bloodbender. The bloodbender, really.”

“Bullshit. That’s-”

“You have felt the truth of my statement, have you not?”

“I…”

“And you, Korra… well, I’ve heard certain things about you. And I did not believe them. But now that I’ve met you, I’m inclined to entertain the impossible. As you must. Because I’m going to put this needle in your arm, and inject the contents. What happens after that, is entirely up to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fan art, to help us recall those days when Korra's greatest fear was riding on a fast motorcycle.
> 
> http://catchingsound.tumblr.com/post/114386929804/low-resolution-photograph-of-a-drawing-i-did-of


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that I changed the Chapter total from 56 to 57. That means the ominous line about an execution - which has not been correctly guessed yet - is now going to happen to end Chapter 55, rather than this chapter. That's because this chapter was supposed to be part of last chapter, but both got away from me. Brevity is... not a strong suit of mine. But that's ok, because I'm doing cool shit. Cool, weird shit. Now, let's get weird.

My hands are still cuffed, and so the man - Noatak, he said - does not extend my arm. That’s the usual way of doing this, and the way I was immunized before leaving home, and getting on the boat to Republic City. But this isn’t an immunization, and there’s nothing usual about it. He instead grabs my elbow, pulls it outward, and twists. I clench my jaw, because it feels like my shoulder is about to pop out of place. But I push that pain aside, because pain is a fleeting, often meaningless thing. The body senses a threat, and tells the brain of this perceived danger. And we call this pain, and treat every instance like a damn tragedy. But very often, the threat is really nothing at all. A sewing needle to the finger hurts, but there is no real danger in that. One bite of poisoned food doesn’t hurt, or really taste any different than normal, but the danger there is profound. Although the pain will come in that case as well, only by then, it’s too late. 

So I’m not worried about the pain in my shoulder at all. My focus is on the present danger - the needle. Because I do know what Sodium thiopental is, and I know that it’s more than Noatak spelled out. It does act as a ‘truth serum’, of sorts; but it’s also lethal, after a certain point. And while that’s not really saying much by itself - everything is lethal after a certain point - the statement becomes a lot stronger if you know that the stuff is used to execute prisoners. They say it’s more humane than a firing squad, but I don’t know. A fire inside can hurt just as bad as being fired on from the outside, I think. So it’s not just that this stuff can kill people, it’s that it does kill people. In very portable doses. The kind of dose one could inject with a syringe, a lot like Noatak is pressing up against a protruding vein right now. 

But of course, that isn’t the primary purpose. Not the most famous one, at least. And while Noatak almost seems to want to motivate me, I’m hoping he doesn’t want the stakes that high. Because if I’m dead, then I can’t talk. And they do want me to talk. Inject the stuff, and then let it get to work. It’ll suppress certain brain functions, with the idea being that telling a lie takes more focus than telling the truth. So once you’re under the influence, you’ll be easily convinced to spill whatever you know. Of course, I don’t actually know where the briefcase is. 

Although, thinking back to the names Hiroshi said… Chief, Mako, Bolin… it feels like there’s something missing. Like there’s a suspicious absence after Bolin’s name. I haven’t seen him alone recently, and so thinking his name, then feeling that absence... the little game of word association is an easy one, and the name comes quickly to mind: Opal. And if they don’t have Opal, and they don’t have the case...

I stop, shake my head, and I hope those thoughts fall right out my ears. I don’t know about any of that. And I can’t afford to. Because that fucking needle might convince me to tell them something, and while Opal’s never been exactly friendly to me, I don’t think she deserves the kinds of things that Hiroshi would subject her to. Of course, I don’t think I deserve that treatment either, but here I am, about to get beaten to death with a pipe. It’s not fair, but then this city never promised me anything like that. 

I bite my lip, as I feel the needle break the skin. And then there is burning.

“Your blood, your choice,” Noatak says. 

And I know what he means, or at least I think I do. He says he’s a bloodbender, which is fucking impossible. But maybe impossible things are only impossible, right up until the point that they’re not anymore. Or maybe it’s all just a matter of perspective. Maybe he’s something right out of the myths, or maybe they were never myths to begin with. And he said that there was something about me… and maybe… I don’t know. I don’t know, but there’s never really been a better time to find out.

“It’s just water,” I whisper. “Just red fucking water.”

And that’s bullshit, of course. But maybe it’s useful bullshit, right now. The blood in my veins is water, the same substance I’ve been able to bend since before I can remember. I reach out to water, and it responds. As easy as anything. Like kicking, or walking, or breathing. You don’t even notice the command, and yet the action follows. But as I reach out to my blood, twitch my hands in the cuffs, there is no response. Half a moment passes, and I flex my arms, beginning to panic already. I rock the chair back and forth, and feel the edge grind up against my legs. It hits a pressure point there, and I feel a sharp pain on the back of my right leg. Right where I was shot, on that cliff.

I was bleeding then. I was bleeding, and then I wasn’t. Asami showed me a clean palm, and speculated that the bullet must have just missed anything major. But it didn’t miss, did it? Because a few seconds later, it started gushing, just like Asami thought it should. And so for those moments that I wasn’t bleeding… I must have been… which means I am…

I feel my head dip below the surface, and I dive willingly, plunging into those impossible depths. I am submerged, and I remember. Blood is not water, water is blood. Because everything is blood. Floating along in that deep red, I find myself smiling, then closing my eyes, and letting myself go. I feel the currents gently moving about me, and then moving through me. I know them. I speak to them with a voice beyond words, and they respond. We are understood. 

But we are not alone, the currents and I. There is something else. Something foreign, offending, and wholly other. Some liquid fire within me, polluting and corrupting. I cannot have that, and so the currents rise with my anger, and swirl around the invader. The substance is carried away, and expelled into nothing. 

“Welcome home,” says a voice, emanating from above the surface. I feel myself drawn towards it, floating at first, and then kicking. Slowly, I see the light spreading, and then I breach.

My eyes open, and I gasp for breath. I lurch in the chair, my chest heaving, and feel the sweat drip from my forehead. I feel something dripping on my hands, and then notice that the sensation of wetness travels up my arm. I look, and there are tendrils of blood extending down from my punctured vein, soaking the cuffs, and then pooling on the floor. So much blood, from a microscopic opening.

I rejected the poison. I expelled it from my body, forcing it out using the very blood that carried it. I expelled it, and then deposited it on the floor. As easy as you’d spill a glass of water, I took the current, and I did not flow with it, but redirected it. I made a river where there was none. I did that. Even looking at the evidence, I don’t know how, exactly. I can’t know. Because this is a thing beyond knowing. It’s not like math, or anything similar. Two plus two is four, and that’s a thing you can write out, and then share. It’s a universal truth that anyone can know. And it’s a knowledge that’s easily communicated. This… this is something else, something far beyond that. And beyond belief, even. It’s a thing that exists only in images and sensations. But they have a name for it, despite all of that: Bloodbending. And they have a name for those impossible people who can do this impossible thing. People like me.

“Noatak, what the fuck is going on?” Hiroshi steps forward, and into the light. “I thought you were some kind of doctor. Haven’t you ever given a shot before? From the looks of things-”

“I know precisely what I’m doing.”

Hiroshi takes half a step back. “Then please, enlighten the rest of us.”

Noatak stands, and rubs his chin. “In a moment, perhaps. Though I don’t expect you could understand.” He steps around behind me, then takes a hand, and brushes it across my forehead. He lingers, and I feel a spot of pressure building. It digs beneath my skin, splits my skull, and I feel a sensation of reaching, clawing, grasping, into my mind, and then deeper still. 

I am submerged again, but the water around me is unsettled. There are no currents, only sizzling tumult. I am tossed about, like the whole mass is near to boiling. Suddenly, the pressure vanishes. There is a release, and the water races away. I’m falling, flailing, until I land on the dirt below. It’s white, calcified, salinated. There is silence that sounds like desolation, and the earth itself is blanched bones, pale and sparse forever. But there is the image of a man on a distant horizon. I cannot see his face, but I can feel his smile, and see his gestures. He’s waterbending, and he’s pulling the totality of my water away, holding it up like a cloud, slowly evaporating it into nothing. 

“Water is blood, and blood is water,” he whispers. The voice carries, and it’s as clear as if he stands beside me. “But focusing only on the hydrokinetic aspects of bloodbending misses the point entirely. To bend blood is to bend the very life essence of a person, to take their will and make it your own.”

I fall to my knees, and cough. Everything is so dry, so arid. The sun beats down, and I feel my skin burning, and then peeling away. 

“Do you want to lose your element?” he asks, teasing the entire floating sea about, gently rocking the waves on the horizon.

“No,” I manage, speaking with a swollen tongue. 

“Then don’t. It’s right here, if you want it.”

I press my hands against the dirt, and hear a sizzle, a hiss. My skin recoils, and the acrid smell of burnt flesh torments my senses. But I stand. I stand, and I inhale that bitter air, set my feet wide, and then pull. My muscles strain with the effort, and then scream. I feel the acid building, burning. I’m trembling, twitching, and I am failing. I feel the water pulling away, and I feel him pulling it. And he is not strained. There is no effort in him at all. 

“Strength of will, not of body,” he says.

I dig in my heels, and I tell myself that I will not break. I don’t move my mouth, but with a voice that is mine, those words come from everywhere and nowhere. “I will not break.” I speak without speaking, and the air speaks with me, my words carried to him on its invisible wings. 

I feel the corner of his lip twitch, and mine raises as well. 

I pull, but not with my body. I pull with my mind, my soul, my spirit. I reach out with the whole of my being, everything that I am or ever could be in a thousand lifetimes. I do not need to grasp at my element, because it is more than mine. It is of me, and it is me. 

The man drops his arms, ceases his bending, and the water comes rushing back. There is a wave to blot out all light. With such a curtain falling, even the very idea of light seems absurd. It comes crashing down, and everything is cool, wet darkness. I feel the currents - my currents - take me, and I take them. Everything is pure, blissful flow.

Noatak’s hand pulls away from my forehead, and my eyes find the light. I blink, trying to focus, trying to orient myself here, in this chair, and in this world. I’m cuffed still, but I feel a hand brush past mine, and there is something thin and cold left behind. I catch my breath, and close my eyes, hoping to conceal the shock as I realize I’ve just been given a way out. A small way, but then that’s better than no way at all. As for the ‘why’, I have no idea. And frankly, I don’t give a damn. Why is a luxury for quiet, easy times. For times when you don’t have urgent problems. For times that aren’t anything like this. 

I manipulate the metal, and I know I could pick the lock on these cuffs, if given just a moment. It wouldn’t be noisy, or require any demonstrative movements. It would hardly be noticeable; provided, of course that thirty odd gunmen weren’t in the business of noticing me right now. 

Noatak walks in front of me, then past, and all eyes follow him. I swallow, and set to work. The small sounds of my pick against the lock are quickly drowned out by the sound of metal against concrete, of Hiroshi striking the floor with his pipe. 

He steps in front of Noatak. “You promised me an explanation. Don’t forget, I hired you-”

“You hired me? No, Hiroshi. That was never the deal. I sought you out two months ago, and I promised that I could assist you in dealing with the rising tide of the Beifong syndicate.”

“And you managed to keep Suyin sick, somehow, so she’s still off in Zaofu. That’s nice. But this bullshit with the girl-”

“It would be a shame to waste talent such as she possesses.”

“Well I’m sorry you feel that way. Because she’s not living to use whatever talent you think she’s got.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“Oh, you do? Well - magic tricks or not - I’ve heard about enough of what you think.” Hiroshi turns his head right, then left, and his soldiers step closer. “And really, what the fuck have you even done for me? What-”

“I’ve done more than you know. For you, and to you.”

Hiroshi rolls his eyes. “Enough with this cryptic bullshit.”

“It’s only cryptic if you’re ignorant to the currents.”

“Would you fucking-”

“I spoke to Saikhan.”

Hiroshi pauses, then taps his pipe on the ground. “Excuse me?”

“I convinced him it would be a good idea to tip off the Triads, that it would be an easy path to power. Greedy bastard, it really wasn’t hard. But then, it rarely is. Break a man’s will, and you can bend him into any shape you like.”

Hiroshi narrows his eyes. “Listen, you son of a bitch-”

“I spoke to Hideki as well.”

“Who?”

“The guard that shot Suyin. I suggested he could ingratiate himself to you, if only he brought the right bullets. If an opportunity were to present itself… perhaps he should fire. And don’t pretend that Agni Kai plot to kill Asami was entirely your idea.”

A bead of sweat drops from Hiroshi’s brow, and he wipes the building moisture away. “I thought of it, then I consulted you. But it was my idea, and my decision.”

“Small men must allow themselves such delusions.”

Hiroshi face twists into a snarl, and his arm twitches. But it doesn’t raise. There’s no signal to fire, and he doesn’t make any sound.

Noatak brings his hands behind his back, and clasps them. “And then, last night, when you told me of Suyin’s son, and asked if I needed more time in Zaofu: What did I say? You may speak.”

The veins on Hiroshi’s neck and forehead twist into knots. “Yes,” he manages.

“Precisely. I said you really shouldn't even let him board the train. I even suggested one specific way you could stop him, one way you could use it to accomplish another goal. And you did what you were told. Of course, I left Zaofu on an airship almost immediately after sending that message. You were very glad to have me back for tonight’s business; and I have to say, I’m glad to be here for it as well. Or rather, I’m glad to have been here for it. Because I really must be going.”

Hiroshi falls to one knee, closes his eyes, and grimaces. “You’re not just walking out of here.”

Noatak takes a step, and places a hand on Hiroshi’s shoulder. “I am, actually.” He looks back and forth, scanning the soldiers for one willing to take a shot. For one even willing to raise their gun. Maybe, for one who is able. He rendered me immobile… but to do it to so many? That would be impossible. But I’m not sure what that word means anymore. So maybe they can’t move. Or maybe they’re just too afraid to try. 

Hiroshi strains, and peers up into those polished eyes, smooth like old riverstones. His jaw trembles open, but then snaps shut.

Noatak tilts his head with a half-nod. “This city is a depleted field, Hiroshi. There are too many deep-rooted weeds, and nothing new can grow. So the only thing to do - if one would like to sow seeds, and grow their own crops - is flood everything. Wash it all away.”

Hiroshi works his jaw open. “And you think you’re the man to do it?”

“No. I’m the man who has. I’m the man who has called down this rain, flooded the rivers, and directed the currents. I’m-”

“You’re an idiot. You think you can speak to me like this? That you can just get away with it? You can’t disappear. I’ll find you. I’ll kill you. I’ll-”

“You’ll drown, Hiroshi. You and the rest of the weeds.”

Noatak strides towards the soldiers, and they part, guns down. No one fires. Perhaps they can’t, or perhaps they won’t. Doesn’t really matter, I suppose. He leaves, and I hear his footfalls echoing, and feel the absence in my veins. It’s like some faint illness has passed, a sickness that I didn’t know I had. I reach out, and I think I feel Hiroshi’s heart beating in his chest, sounding for all the world like it’s trying to beat out of his chest. I smile, and grip the cuffs, holding them in place. Best to make them look locked, even though they aren’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. Weird. Like I said.


	55. Chapter 55

The sweat glistens on Hiroshi’s brow, and I wonder idly if it’s enough to bother attempting to bend. My hands are free now, and maybe I could freeze those drops of sweat into makeshift bullets, and puncture his skull. But it’s an easy thought to dismiss. Easy, when there are still something like thirty machine guns that would turn on me the moment my bending movements became clear. And anyway, the thing about sweat, is you only really produce it when you’re warm. So freezing it would be a real bitch. Besides, I’m not sure I want to kill Hiroshi. Well, that’s not true. I damn sure want to kill him. But I think, if it’s possible for us both to survive tonight, that would be for the best. Because if he dies, then all that incriminating evidence is going to come crashing down on Asami. 

At least, that’s what I expect would happen. Truthfully, it’s hard to say. Opal has that briefcase… I think. Though I’m trying not to think much about that. Truth serum or no, a metal pipe to the legs can be awfully convincing. And that, or something like it, is probably coming next. 

Once Hiroshi gets himself up off the ground, anyway. Right now he’s still kneeling on the cold concrete, chest heaving, eyes bulging. Like he’s trying to inhale his air of intimidation, rather than the air itself, and like his eyes are still desperately trying to see what the fuck just happened. Because it’s hard to say, really. Even having seen it, I feel unsure. There’s a looming absence, that much I know. I know it, because I feel it. But it’s hard to believe that one man could’ve left such a void behind. But then… maybe these things just don’t make sense. Maybe that man doesn’t make sense. And that’s ok, maybe. I can’t argue too much with a man who provided me the means to escape these handcuffs. And although he certainly threatened to harm me - and what was that hallucination he pushed into my mind? - I didn’t end up losing anything worse than a little blood. What I gained… well, it’s a strange thing to think about. Almost too strange to put into words. Though there is a word for it. I don’t need to say it though. I just need to breath, to flow, and to feel the heartbeats in the room.

They’re thumping loudly still, but slowing now. Hiroshi’s, even, is coming back under control. It’s like we’re nearing the tail end of a hailstorm, and the icy barrage is almost relenting. All that’s left to do is wait. Wait, and then inspect the damage. 

I lick my lips, and I’m patient. Because there’s nothing else to be right now, apart from dead. Eventually, Hiroshi regains his feet, propping himself up using that metal pipe like a cane. He wobbles for a moment, but two of his soldiers grab his arms, and steady him. Hiroshi grumbles something, and pushes them away. I think he’s fine, probably. The only real damage is to his pride. But for a man like Hiroshi Sato… a man who thinks himself above even the notion of being hurt… that’s a grisly wound to receive. He turns his eyes to me, and that pain is evident. It looks like he intends to share that pain with me. 

As he approaches, his steps are slow, deliberate. Maybe he’s still not steady on his feet. Maybe his knees are aching. He’s not the youngest man, and that could surely be it. But I don’t think his pace is dictated by any physical ailment. He’s walking slow, because he wants each one of his footsteps to do what that injection couldn’t. He wants to put a burning fear deep inside of me. He thinks that heat will melt my will, and he’ll be able to twist it into whatever shape he likes. He’ll ask where that briefcase is, and I’ll tell him anything. Shit, after enough pain, maybe I’d tell him I buried the damn thing on the moon. That’s the thing about torture. You don’t really do it, looking for the truth. You just want an answer, and at a certain point, any old lie will do.

Hiroshi settles beside me, and presses the metal pipe up against my shin. His face is splotched with red, and his eyes are bloodshot. He looks like a broken man, intent on spreading his affliction. 

I lick my lips, and twist my hands into place. At least, I think that’s what I do. It’s hard to say, given that I only have the most basic idea of how to do… whatever it is I’m about to do. But the sensation of bloodbending, of plunging one’s self down into those red depths, and controlling the currents… I know that. And I think I could do it again. But the technique, I don’t know. Shit, I don’t even know that there is a proper technique. Up until a few minutes ago, I didn’t even know it was possible. So I wonder what I could do, and how I should go about doing it. If I subdue Hiroshi, I could use him as a shield. His soldiers moved towards him, during that discussion with Noatak. So none of them have my back right now. At least, none that I can see. And given that there’s one fucking lightbulb turned on in this massive room, it’s certainly possible that a rifle or two will put a bullet in the back of my head, if I try something. But not trying… that’s not an option. 

“The briefcase,” says Hiroshi. It sounds like his voice is filtered through a gravel-filled sock.

“I don’t know.” And that’s true, I tell myself. I might suspect something, but that’s not the same as knowing. Not even close, really.

“You’re right handed, yes?”

“I-”

“Of course you are. I’ve seen you armed. So it stands to reason you favor your right leg as well. Stands to reason you’d miss it the most.” 

Hiroshi steps to the side, so he’s standing just to my right. He sighs, and levels the pipe against my shin. It’s cold, but I feel a building warmth inside of me. I clench my fists, and-

“Boss!” A man, sprinting from somewhere, bursting into the light. He’s carrying a portable radio, the kind I’ve only seen in a catalogue.

Hiroshi turns towards him, and brings the pipe away from me. I relax my hands, but only just. “This had better be fucking important.”

The man nods, and pants. He hands Hiroshi the handset. “It’s... it’s her.”

Hiroshi’s face blanches, and even the red splotches are subsumed into a pale mask. With a quivering hand, he raises the radio to his mouth. “Asami.”

“Hiroshi.” The voice comes through in pieces and shards. But it’s unmistakably her, once you put things together. She used his name, I notice. And that’s right enough. He’s no father to her, that’s for damn sure. 

“Asami, we-”

“I know.”

Hiroshi clenches his jaw, and closes his eyes. “The briefcase?”

“Yes.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

“How?”

“The specifics aren’t important. Someone had it, they gave it to someone else. Then that person paid a nobody to sneak a note into the Red Raven, telling me to meet them. I agreed, and they showed me everything. And now, here I am.”

“And how did you even know to come here?”

“I’m guessing the same way you found Korra. A radio tracker, attached to all of our cars. You thought I didn’t know the frequency?”

“I’d hoped you might not.”

“Can’t count on hope, Hiroshi. Not ever, and damn sure not now.”

“Asami… I know what it must look like. But I can explain. She betrayed me - and you! - by calling the police. She wanted to send me to jail, to tear our family apart. I… I just couldn’t stand the idea of that. I couldn’t let her-”

“Stop.”

“Asami-”

“I said fucking stop. You don’t deserve to speak about her.”

“Maybe not, and… maybe you’re right. But I’d like to think there can still be a way forward, for us.”

“There is no ‘us’. I know now that there never was. It was all hideous lie. My entire life, built on that rotting foundation.”

“Then what, Asami? If there’s no ‘us’, then what do you want from me? Why are you here? Revenge? I have thirty three men. Well, thirty two, now that you’ve killed my lookout, and taken his radio. But still, this isn’t your fucking Last Dance Massacre. These are armed soldiers, ready and waiting. You walk in here, thinking to kill-”

“I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to use you, just as you used me for all those years. And this isn’t about revenge. At least, it doesn’t have to be. Not if Korra’s still alive. Let her go. Walk out with her right now, and we’ll wait for the police to arrive. I know you’ve got dispatch tonight, and the area’s patrols. I know it could take a while. But I’ve got all night. And so do you, if you make the right decision.”

Hiroshi turns to me. “Say something. Tell her you’re ok.”

I glance down at the blood caked on my arms, and on the floor. “I might not say I’m ok exactly, but I’m alive. And that’s not nothing.”

I hear an exhale come through the radio, and I can almost see Asami’s eyes close, and her lips curl into a faint smile. “You’re right about that. Especially considering everything you’ve done tonight. I mean, Korra… doing what you did… well, we can talk about it later. And we will. I-”

“You can come get her, if you want,” says Hiroshi, pulling the handset away from me. 

“Just walk right in the front door? Right into the storm of bullets you’ll have ready? Not exactly your most clever trap.”

Hiroshi shrugs. “Doesn’t have to be clever. It’s effective. What choice do you have? The police aren’t coming, and you know that. Not for hours, at least. So what? You stand outside, and let me slowly beat her to death? I don’t think you could tolerate that. So you’ll come. You’ll come, and you’ll die.”

Asami sighs, and the weight of her frustration comes through clearly. “It’s not a clever trap, because you’re standing right in it. You just don’t see.”

“I suppose I don’t. But then, perhaps you’re just delusional. Thirty two against one. Those aren’t good odds, Asami. Not good at all.”

“You’re only half wrong.”

“Oh? Which half?”

“The numbers. It’s not thirty two against one, Hiroshi. But you are right, about the odds not being very good. You really don’t have a chance. You can still surrender, though. And you should.”

Hiroshi laughs, finding some deep reservoir of arrogance, and pulling from it. “The police patrolling the area were told to watch for any suspiciously large groups of cars, anything that might resemble a fleet. I’ve heard nothing about anything like that, so I can only assume you didn’t bring very much help. Just a couple desperate traitors, perhaps? A small handful who owe you favors? But I don’t really care who it is, honestly. Because it doesn’t matter. So no, I don’t think I’ll surrender. But I will give you one more chance, Asami, to do that instead. I know it may not look like it, but there is a way out of this. A way back, and then a way forward. It doesn’t have to end in blood.”

“Everything ends in blood.”

“If you say so.”

“It’s not me saying it. Not really. It’s the city speaking, and I’m just passing it along. This began with blood, and so that’s how it’s going to end. Past is prologue. There is no other way, no matter how much I’d like for there to be. I’d prefer you walked out with Korra, and we could all proceed without firing a shot. There was some sliver of hope in me, that things could be that easy. I don’t know how, or why, except to say that hope dies last.”

“But it’s dead now.”

“It is. So here’s the new deal, Hiroshi. I’m going to kill everyone there, if they don’t leave. Maybe they can hear this, and if they know me, then they know I’m telling the truth. Go. Go now, and you’ll see the sunrise. Stay, and you’ll die.” I see eyes dart, and feet shift. But no one wants to be the first deserter, and so no one leaves. “Fine. You’ve chosen the time and place of your death. That’s a luxury most don’t get, so that’s something. Congratulations. But as for you, Hiroshi… you’re not getting even that much. I’ll keep you alive, and turn you over to the police. You’ll be my passport to a new life. Provided, of course, Korra’s still alive at the end of this. If she’s not… well, you’ll beg for the police to arrive.”

Hiroshi holds the radio down by his waist, and waves over a gunman. He whispers something in his ear, but I can’t make it out. The man nods, though, and walks over to me. He presses the barrel of his machine gun up against my temple. 

Hiroshi brings the handset back to his lips. “She’s alive. For now. Whether she ends up that way-”

“I’ll be fine.” The man presses his gun against me with more force, and narrows his eyes. I meet his gaze, and smirk. “Trust me, Asami.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Hiroshi rolls his eyes, and shoves the radio into the hands of some nearby person. He tosses the pipe to the ground, and motions for someone to bring him something. They bring a Sato special, and I guess that’s about right. A pipe wouldn’t be much good, against whatever Asami’s bringing. Still, I wonder what that is. Opal had the briefcase… I think. And she gave it to someone else? And then that person showed it to Asami, and now Asami’s here, but not by herself. Still, she can’t have much in the way of numbers. At least, Hiroshi seemed pretty sure about that. And yet, Asami sounded pretty damn confident. So whoever she has-

There’s the sound of glass shattering, and then metal striking the floor. It bounces, bounces, and then rolls, until it makes its way into the sparse light. Just a small metal ball, about the size of a grenade.

Everyone sprints away. Even the man beside me… well, he was beside me. I start kicking my legs out, or trying to. Even though my hands are free, each legs is cuffed to the chair. Still, the chair’s wood, and so it should be easy enough to break, if I could just manage to extend my legs. With a grunt, and a crack, I succeed. But success, in this case, means the chair coming out from underneath me, and a quick fall to the floor. I manage to halfway catch myself, though, and so the stinging radiating up from my tailbone isn’t so bad. A small price to pay, in any case, to have my legs somewhat free. Somewhat, because the cuffs are still there, and so I couldn’t do much but shuffle. It’s past time that hiding my free hands would do any good, so I swing them around, and set to work on the lock.

“Someone stop her!” Hiroshi’s voice, from somewhere in the shadow. 

But no one’s in too big of a hurry to approach. Not while that explosive is there. Instead, there are encroaching shadows, taking careful, sliding steps towards me. They’re eying the little ball, and I follow their eyes, see it crack open-

There’s nothing. No flash, no bang. Just a stream of ball bearings and shrapnel, cascading out onto the floor. And now the only sound is laughter, coming from every angle. “A dud? A fucking dud?” The men approach more quickly now, without fear anchoring them. But my eyes are still on the metal, which is now spread out across the floor. I don’t think it all should have rolled that far on its own. And if that were a dud, it wouldn’t have opened even that much. I think back to that glass I used at Saikhan’s house, how I bent it into a death spiral… and I think I know who’s here with Asami. She didn’t find someone who owed her a favor, like Hiroshi guessed. She found someone who didn’t owe her a damn thing. 

I hear laughter again, and it takes a few moments before I realize that voice is mine. The cuffs fall from my ankles, and eight guns are brought level with my head. Still, I’m laughing.

“What’s so funny?” asks a face from behind the guns.

I nod towards the metal. “You’re all fucked.”

Their eyes follow, and before anyone can voice a response, it looks like a shimmer goes through all the metal. Like a flash of life, and then a twitch of movement. The concrete floor erupts around me, and I hear the shrapnel bounce against it. A fraction of a moment later, the screams come, and then gunfire. The wall falls away, and my eyes quickly find a body - or the remains of one - nearby. I grab the gun that they won’t be using anymore, and scan the room. Or I try to. Someone has bumped the one light, and it’s swirling, swinging, illuminating this corner, and then the other. Everything is light and everything is darkness, in equal measures, like day and night are each passing in seconds.

I close my eyes, and I take a breath. There are two hearts beating in a controlled fashion, like they’re doing nothing more strenuous than strolling through the park. The others that still beat - and there aren’t many - are lurching in a frenzy, and so I picture them, let my hand reach out and touch the currents. I find them, and I know them. I raise the gun, and the bullets follow the trajectory, seeking, finding, destroying, as sure as if each shot were on train tracks. 

And then it’s over. The light slowly finds its balance, and comes to a stop. The screams cease, and the air begins to mend, no longer being cracked apart by gunfire. A hangar door rolls open, and the moonlight pours in, drenching the already wet floors in pale light. Everything is soft, white, and yet everything is sharp, and red. Everything is contrast and contradiction, and yet it all makes sense to me. All of this blood… I know it, and it belongs to me.

Two figures stand in the doorway, black outlines in the light. And that’s right enough, I figure. Black, like the void to which they’ve sent so many. One turns, and I see a long braid swing behind her. She waves a hand, and one car pulls in. She leans against the window, and it looks like she’s speaking to the driver. The other outline grows larger, as she approaches me. It’s a shape I know, and there’s a feeling of warmth, of recognition, of a heartbeat that’s quickening now. I just sigh, and smile. 

“Asami.”

“Korra.”

“I don’t… I don’t quite know what to say. About this. About us. About everything. Just… I’m sorry. First of all. I’m sorry, and I know-”

Her arms are around me, and as I return the embrace, all of my words fall away into nothing. 

“We can talk about it later,” she whispers. “And again, we will have to. But after Hiroshi...”

Her head slides down to my shoulder, and finds a resting place. My eyes find the man that was her father, trapped in his own pillar of concrete. It’s tight around him, and only his head is now exposed. 

I close my eyes, and-

The silence is shattered, split apart by a gunshot. I feel a jolt go through Asami, then feel something tear through my stomach. My hands are on her back, and they are warm now, warm and wet. Another shot, and we are apart. That red rises, swirling all around us, and the currents are strong. Too strong for me, and so they pull as away from one another. 

My head hits the floor, and there’s a ringing in my ears. I bring my hand to my stomach, and find blood. I see Kuvira, revolver in hand, tears streaming down her face. She sets her eyes on Asami. Asami, who is also on the ground. Near me, and yet so far away. She’s rolling, twisting in an expanding pool of her own blood. 

“Baatar didn’t get off that train in Zaofu. I got word of that, right before Opal brought me the briefcase. Before I offered it to you, Asami, along with my assistance. I sent men to search for him. These men, as it happens. I told them where I’d be, and that they should alert me to anything they learned, as soon as they learned it. And what do you think they found?”

Asami presses herself up, leveraging on one hand, and two knees. Her other arm is around her stomach, but I can still see the gaping exit wounds. “Kuvira… I… I don’t-”

“Did you forget, Asami? Again? How convenient for you, that each time my love is stolen from me, you can plead ignorance. And maybe… maybe I could have believed that lie once. Because I wanted so desperately to believe. I wanted to think that someone - anyone - could truly care for me. Even if she didn’t remember. I needed to believe that it was real. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Just for one person, once in my life, to love me. But you couldn’t let me have that. Not then, and not now.” 

Asami steadies herself, and stands. The blood cascades down, as she does. “I’m sorry, but-”

“They found his body in an alley. The only visible damage was a red circle on his back, a burn mark.”

“I-”

“One of my guards saw that glove you used, when you shocked them in the pool. It’s adjustable, I’m guessing. You stunned them, but you killed Baatar.” 

“Those gloves… we have dozens. Just useless prototypes. I used one that once, but… I didn’t... I… my father. I spoke to him about our meeting. He must have-”

Kuvira fires, and Hiroshi’s head disappears into a red mist. She turns back to Asami, and whips the gun across her jaw. I hear the sound of bone breaking, and Asami hits the floor. Kuvira waves to the car, and now there are four rifles approaching. She leans down over Asami, grabs her by the hair, and pulls their faces close.

“I’m going to show you what it feels like.” She twists Asami’s face towards me. “You’re going to watch me kill her. You’re going to see-”

“No. Please. She had nothing to do with this. I understand what it must look like. I do, and I can tell you a thousand times that I didn’t kill Baatar, and you won’t believe me. And maybe… maybe you shouldn’t. But she’s innocent, Kuvira. She-”

“Innocent? No. No, and it wouldn’t matter anyway. Now stop talking, Asami. This isn’t a trial. It’s an execution.”

Kuvira pulls a knife from her belt, and stabs Asami through the back. The blade grows, digging into the ground and drinking up blood like some perverse root. Asami grabs at it, but there’s nothing to be done. The men surround her, but I don’t think she could move anyway.

Kuvira tilts her head to the side, and I see in her eyes nothing but death. There’s no anger or sadness left behind. She has drowned in blood, and so she will have blood.


	56. Chapter 56

Behind Kuvira’s dead eyes there is an endless expanse, beckoning, almost welcoming. It’s a darkness that promises relief, like a pleasantly mild night in the middle of summer. Warm, comforting, quiet except for the sounds of nature. And that’s right enough, I figure, because what could be more natural than this? Everyone who lives will die, and here I am, in no position to argue that point. The blood is pouring out of my stomach, and I’m grasping at it, fumbling like a child. But I’m not a child, and I know better. I know that you can’t grasp at blood like that, but you can manipulate it. I can. Just by force of will, I think, and then I know. It’s mine, that blood, and it damn sure isn’t going anywhere.

But I can’t undo the hurt Kuvira’s given me, not right now. Not while she’s advancing, as unstoppable as encroaching darkness, as inevitable as death itself. I could heal myself, of course. I could heal all of it, given a moment. But I don’t have a moment. What I have are two bullet holes in my stomach, and a pain in my chest that exceeds those physical wounds.

That pain, which has nested in the void left by the shock at what Kuvira did to Asami. She’s hurt, so bad she doesn’t even know it. Her eyes are glazed, like a thin silk sheet’s been pulled over them. Like she’s drifting off to sleep, quietly and comfortably. Part of me wants to scream, to call her back, to wake her from a sleep from which there is no waking. But there’s nothing words can do. Not now, and not for her. And so I reach out with a different voice. I plunge down into those red depths, and I feel faint ripples emanating from her heart. There’s life in her yet, even as the blood flows out of her. But that flow… that’s something I can control. Something that belongs to me, just as all this does. I see the currents, and I direct them. No more life is flowing out of her, and I think, deep within the fog blanketing her eyes, I see light. 

Kuvira’s boot cracks me across the jaw, and I see light again. Bright, flashing images, pasted against my eyelids. I blink madly, desperately, trying to find some sense of focus, and then balance. Trying to find some way to focus on Asami, and then on Kuvira. Trying to-

A kick to the stomach, and I’m rolling away. Or trying to. I feel the torn flesh yield, and then tear further. It’s a searing pain beyond words, and so I just scream. I scream in no language, and all of them. Because everyone damn sure knows what death sounds like. Instinctively, whether we’ve heard it or not, we know. Like a baby crying, the sound finds a way inside your mind, and leaves a heavy discomfort behind. 

But I don’t think Kuvira’s bothered. There’s no sympathy left in her, no capacity to feel anything anymore. She’s been torn up herself, her heart and her mind shredded. There’s nothing left behind to process what she’s doing. All that remains is violence, and violence is an insatiable parasite. Always hungry, always seeking, always feasting. 

Kuvira grabs me by the hair, and lifts me up. “I want you to watch this,” she says, turning to Asami. And that fog in Asami’s eyes dissipates, swept away by some cruel wind. Or maybe… swept away by my currents. Because she’s keeping her blood now, and the life that comes with it. Her heartbeats are coming in a steady rhythm. Soft, faint, but real. And I’m doing that for her. Only… I can’t do much else besides. I can’t do much but absorb one punch, and then another. The pain is gone. Maybe it’s covered up by something, or maybe I’m just drifting away from my own body, too far gone to feel a thing. I’m aware that my head recoils, but only just. I barely know it’s me anymore. It’s a vision, or a visage, or something like that. Just a window into the world. And windows aren’t the hardest thing to break. Just wood and glass, and a fist can destroy those easy enough. 

But Kuvira’s not interested in easy. She wants Asami to know the depths of her pain, to drag her down into those darkest depths. I’d almost feel bad for her, given all that she’s gone through, all that she’s lost. Two lovers, taken from her. And a piece of her heart was lost each time. I’d almost feel bad for her, if she weren’t intent on murdering me. And if she weren’t intent on using my death to torture Asami. No, there’s no sympathy in me either. 

But there is life, even if it’s only a whisper. Just a spark, but I tend to it, because there’s nothing else to do. Death might offer a respite from my pain, and that’s inviting to be sure, but that’s not a vacation I can take just yet. So I pull myself back into consciousness, into presence. I cling to that pain, and let if dominate all my senses. Everything is burning agony, that fire searing in my stomach. But that fire can keep me warm also. It can keep me alive, just as I’m keeping Asami alive. Because if I die, then she dies. It’s a simple calculus. Once I’m gone, then Kuvira’s made her gruesome point. Then, the only thing left for her to do is end Asami. And she’ll do just that. Of course, there’s also the matter of the four guns directed at Asami, each with a finger on the trigger. Maybe I could take a swing at Kuvira. Maybe I could even land a shot or two - though I kind of doubt it - and maybe, just maybe, give her a taste of the pain she’s dealing. But even if I did manage that, those fingers would squeeze, and Asami would die. 

Kuvira’s boot slams into my nose, and I feel it crunch, and smash up into my skull. I’m disoriented, swirling in my own thoughts; but at least I’m still lucid enough to have those thoughts. The blood comes then, flowing like waves out of my broken nose. I press my hands to the floor, and they slide out from underneath me. It’s all soaked, all blood everywhere. And that’s right enough, I figure. This is a bloody night, in a bloody building, in a bloody city. I hear laughter, and feel the slightest heaving in my chest. It’s me, I realize. I’m laughing because I just keep learning this lesson over and over again: There’s blood everywhere, because everything is blood. So why shouldn’t the floor be covered with it? And why shouldn’t I use it? It belongs to me, after all. 

And so I reach out to it. Dead blood, free from any trace of will, cast out on the floor. It’s a broken, naked thing, but not without its uses. Not now, when it’s full of those bits of metal Kuvira used earlier. I think back to Saikhan’s place, to the glass. It’s the same thing. Water is blood and blood is water, and so I set it to swirling, and plunge that shrapnel into the men surrounding Asami. Their shouts and screams announce the arrival of fresh blood, like rain adding to an already flooded river. The currents - my currents - grow stronger, and I direct them at Kuvria.

The metal does not reach her. She calls out to it in a language that I don’t know, and it yields, then redirects. It pulls itself free from the blood, and bursts forth from that red torrent. Kuvira flings her arms forward, and I dive deep, deep down into the depths. If I get deep enough, then perhaps that the metal can’t penetrate. Not so long as the currents obey me, as they do. And not so long as the currents are this strong. 

Still, when I close my eyes, I expect not to open them again. But a moment passes, and then another, and I feel no pain. I take a breath, and open my eyes. The metal has fallen to the floor. It’s lifeless, inanimate. Lying like dead things in pools of blood. It stopped, and it fell, because Kuvira’s arms stopped, mid-motion. She’s trembling, rigid, her face twisted in effort. I see the currents swirling around her, and then the currents within her. I take her, and all her motions cease. She’s trapped in a maelstrom, and panic washes over her. I see that void in her eyes flush with fear, and then rage. 

“Almost,” she spits. 

I sit up on my knees, and reach out for her. My hands grasp, and I see the currents extend from them like red strings. They wind their way across the empty space between us, and then into Kuvira. She’s a puppet, in my hands. Those currents - her currents, her blood - belong to me. She belongs to me, and she won’t take my life. I turn to Asami, and feel the warmth within her still, and that song of life is still rhythmically sounding in her breast. 

I turn my eyes to Kuvira, and twist my hands. She flinches, but does not fall. Her lips curl up slowly, and her arm begins to shake. It moves. Slightly at first, almost imperceptible. But it’s gathering momentum, powering through the currents, breaking the strings that bind her.

I feel her fury transmitted to me, shooting through the shared blood. I feel her hatred, her violence, but most of all, I feel her will. I feel it leverage against me, and damn, it’s strong. I hear her voice in my mind, telling me that she will not be held back, not by someone so weak as I. She will kill me, and then Asami. She tells me that I’ve failed. 

She’s laughing now, and it cuts like a knife. Her hand is quivering with effort and anticipation, as it raises her revolver. And she doesn’t need to get it high, not with me on the ground. And so I try to stand. I try with every functional fiber I have left, my legs pressing up against that cold, slick ground, while my arms desperately try to hold Kuvira back. 

I see a single red tear go down her cheek, and then blood runs from her nose. Her head twitches once, and then a second time, and she blinks out of rhythm. I tighten my grip, devoting all of my mental strength to fighting her, and all of my physical strength to standing. I call on the currents again, and let them sweep up underneath me. I feel, for just a moment, the fatigue dissipate. I stand upright, before doubling back over. But I don’t clutch at my stomach. I can’t, because I need my hands. I’m grasping desperately at Kuvira’s arms, her hands, her fingers. I’m twisting and tying those strings in knots, slamming the strongest current I can muster against her. But she is stone. Only broken over time, and I don’t know that I have long enough. 

The gun rises, rises. Past my feet, then my shins, then my thighs. She grimaces, and closes her eyes. Blood trickles from her left eye again, and then erupts. She screams, and her entire left side goes limp. But the revolver is in her right hand. And that’s still functioning, still climbing. Her right eye opens, and I see it criss-crossed with red, and then a pool welling up within in. She bares her teeth, snarling like a cornered animal, and they’re stained with red also. The gun wobbles back and forth, up and down, but finds a brief moment of equilibrium, aligning itself with my chest. Kuvira smirks, and pulls the trigger.

I feel the blow, the concussion, and then the whiplash. I feel my knees hit the floor, and then my hands as well. My eyes roll up, and find Kuvira, lying face down in a pool of her own blood. Those strings that connected us are there still, and they’re rigid, as she sinks into the black depths beyond. Through that connection, I feel nothing. I turn my eyes to Asami, and see that we are tethered together as well. All three of us, connected. And all three of us, sinking. I feel a murmur in Asami, but it’s fading, fading, as she drifts into forever. I fall, and feel myself crack against the floor. I taste blood, and feel it covering me. I see those currents coming and going, giving and taking. I feel them sweep me up, and break my attachments. I turn and look back as Asami fades away, reaching out for her until I see nothing, and feel nothing. 

\-----

I had promised Asami that she and I would be washed up somewhere, at some point. I had thought her father’s betrayals would offer us that shared salvation, a beach onto which we could crawl, spitting and laughing all at once. Maybe it would be barren and desolate, but it wouldn’t be red. We’d be rid of all that, end our endless drifting forever. It would be, if nothing else, a new life for her. Anywhere but Republic City.

But I recognize these lights, this skyline, and even the route. I’m drifting right back into port, just like before. The currents aren’t letting me go anywhere else.

\-----

The bed is crisp, clean, abrasive. It’s all the wrong kinds of perfect, designed for everything but comfort. And so I roll to one side, and then the other, trying to find some pose that doesn’t ache. But the more I move, the more I think that pain starts with me, and ends with me. Nothing the bed could do about it. 

I pry my eyes open, and feel them yield, but only after some effort. They’re crisp, almost like they were fried shut. I rub the sleep from them, and groan.

“Kid.” 

I feel my mind whirring, working, spinning through possibilities, trying to place that voice. I contort myself and twist my neck, so that I can see the source. It’s all blurry at first, hidden in bright light. But slowly, the black figure begins to appear in contrast. It takes shape, as everything else comes into focus, and I make out the black shape to be a police uniform, and then follow the shoulders right on up to a face I recognize. It’s familiar, if not exactly friendly. 

I groan again, and nod once. “Chief.”

“Welcome back.”

I rub my forehead, trying to massage my mind back into functioning. “How long was I…”

“Two weeks.”

“That long?”

“That long? You’re lucky it wasn’t forever. You were shot three times, and -”

“And I lived?”

“Well, you’re asking me that question, aren’t you?”

“I could be dreaming.”

“That’d be one shit dream, spending eternity with me, in a hospital.”

“I…”

“You didn’t bleed. At least, not much. No vital organs were hit - and that was a damn slice of good luck - so without significant blood loss, you managed to hang in there.”

“For how long?”

“A few hours. I don’t remember, off the top of my head. I wasn’t there, you know. Too busy being tossed in jail on some trumped up bullshit to save your ass.”

I close my eyes, and go to lick my lips, but it feels like I’ve just chewed a giant cottonball. Chief nods to the side, and I look over at a table, and find a glass of water. I try to decide if it’d be harder to sit up and grab the glass, or just bend it over, but when I try for the latter, the water doesn’t seem to want to listen.

Chief walks over, and hands me the glass. “Doctor says that should come back pretty soon. He said something about what you did-”

“What I did?”

The corner of Chief’s lip twitches up. “You didn’t just stop bleeding on accident.”

“Chief, I-”

“You told me those stories. Remember? Bender, Breaker, all that. I thought it was stupid shit for little kids, but now…”

I bite my lip. “Now you don’t think so.”

“He was pretty convincing.”

“He?”

“Your doctor.”

I see those eyes again, and sink into their icy depths. “Noatak,” I whisper, like it’s a curse.

Chief cocks her head. “How’d you guess?”

“I… it’s… it’s not important. I’ve just heard of him. Heard he’s good with bullet wounds, and I guess I just thought, if I’m here, and I’m not dead, then-”

“Then whoever doctored you up must’ve done a fine job of it. And he did, probably. But he was pretty quick to give you some credit as well.”

“So you…”

“I know.”

I close my eyes, and try to force a smile. I try to look like anything but the monster she must suspect me to be. 

Chief sighs, and I open my eyes in time to see her cross her arms, and turn away. “I don’t mind,” she says.

“You don’t? I thought-”

“What? That I’d have you committed? Thrown in jail?”

“Something like that.”

“I’m glad those things have crossed your mind. Because I could’ve done them. And I still might, if you don’t cooperate.”

I prop myself up in bed, and find my arms surprisingly up to the task. “Chief-”

She holds up a hand. “You remember the first time we met.”

“I do.”

“I told you not to talk. To just listen. Because I was explaining the terms of our… arrangement. Same deal, right now. You be quiet, and I explain things.”

I clench my jaw, and nod once.

“Ok, good. You’ve missed a lot in the two weeks you’ve spent napping. And I’ll have you caught up on all of that, while you’re doing physical therapy. Speaking of, we’ll start that in a couple days. You should actually be out of here tomorrow, pending a quick checkup. Your gunshot wounds have been recovered for days. Just that… whatever you did… it wiped you out. But that’s for later. Right now, the essential thing to know is this: You did your job. The Sato syndicate is out of business, and shit, so is the Beifong syndicate. My sister’s not too keen on coming back to the city where she got shot in the neck, and I guess you can’t blame her. Turns out, she’d rather just stay in her own city, living her own life. She’s even pulling herself out of the drug running business. A sort of controlled retreat. Again, a near death experience does things to people. Things like that. I never could convince her of anything in my life, but one quick conversation, and she was happy to back out, and find some new hobbies. 

“Now, this all might appear perfectly rosy. Both of the largest crime families in the whole damn world, and they’re out of Republic City. Why, it’s a police chief’s dream come true. Only things are never quite that easy. Even when everything is good, it’s bad. That’s just life. So we’ve got those two families on the outs, but what that means is, we’re going to have a hundred families trying to take their place - to say nothing of the Triads. So as bloody as things have been… well, we’re headed for a real flood. Things are likely to get worse, before they get better. And I need someone who knows the - what did he call them?- the currents.”

Chief narrows her eyes, and smiles. “What do you say?” 

“Could I say no?”

She shrugs. “You can say whatever the fuck you want.”

“But…”

“But, there are consequences. Like, if you say no, maybe it leaks out that you’re a bloodbender. I hate to think how people might react to that news. And Saikhan’s murder… that’s turning out to be a real bitch to solve, you know? So many dead bodies, but it sure does look like a waterbender was involved. And with so much blood everywhere, it might even be enough to convince a jury that our killer was bending that instead.”

“And you’re not planning on solving that case, are you?”

“Not within the next few years, at least. We’re just going to let it go cold, then hold it over your head, like an executioner’s blade.”

“Unless?”

“Unless you cooperate, like I said.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means, in the simplest terms possible, whatever I want it to. You showed me the value of stepping outside the lines, of fighting this city’s scum on their own terms. Really doing it by any means necessary. It’s useful, having someone around to do those sorts of jobs.”

“You want me to be your Asami,” I whisper.

Chief walks over to the bed. “Excuse me?”

I meet her eyes. “If you’re Hiroshi-” 

“I’m not.”

“If. If you’re Hiroshi, then I’m your Asami. That’s it, isn’t it? I’m your killer. You’ll send me after people you want taken care of, but can’t get arrested. Why bother with warrants, or the law? And fuck justice-”

“This is justice, kid. Reduced to its essence. You always wanted to get the bad guys, right? Well now you’re going to.”

“I wanted to be a cop, not a fucking killer.”

“Well, we can’t get everything we want.”

I open my mouth to respond, but I only have tears. They come, and I almost don’t know from where, but I know why. There are too many reasons to count. Too many things to mention. I sob, and shudder, and shake my head. Chief stands, impassive, then puts a hand on my shoulder.

“It’s nothing personal,” she says. “But you’re an incredibly valuable tool. A weapon, really. And you can’t expect me to just throw that away.”

I turn my head away from her. “I just want to go home.”

Chief pats my shoulder, and steps away. “You are home.”

I let the tears flow, and I don’t bother wiping them away. I let them run their course, until they’re all spent, and there’s nothing left but a dull ache in my chest. 

That pain swells, and forces its way into another agony. Asami. The memories come flooding back, so fast and with such force that it feels like my skull might burst. Kuvira, shooting her. Then striking her, and stabbing her. She bled so much, until I managed to stop it. Still, I left. I was carried away, and there was nothing I could do. But still, I can’t shake the feeling of dread that washes over me. I remember the feeling of her heart beating, and then I remember the lack as she vanished into those cold, unyielding depths. 

“Asami,” I whisper.

“Hmm?” Chief raises her head.

I wipe my eyes. Whatever Chief’s blackmail, whatever my life has become… if Asami has something better, then maybe, just maybe…

“Is she…”

Chief just looks at the floor, and I feel my heart sink with her eyes. She shakes her head, and I feel my insides twist. 

“Chief, please… Asami… is she-”

“Asami’s gone, kid. And I'm sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry too, Chief. But stick with me. Please.


	57. Chapter 57

Gone.

The word hangs from Chief’s mouth, and I see it change shapes, looking like a thousand things, and then nothing. My lips tremble as I try to give voice to the images flashing across my mind, try to guess at what she could mean. But one image is the most prominent, and it’s the image of loss. Of nothing. Gone, Chief says, and so it’s only fitting that I picture pure absence. I see that void into which Asami drifted, as the currents carried me away. I see that darkness blanketing her, enveloping her, until I could see nothing, and feel nothing. That heartbeat in her chest… the echoes were lost in those depths. Gone, just like Chief said.

Gone, and the only thing left behind is my failure. My weakness. My inability to save her. I had the gun, I had the evidence, and I had the words on my lips. I had a chance, and then I had another. But I don’t have Asami. I don’t have the realization of that dream, of us, washing up onto a pure beach, a place without bloodstains. Instead, I let those currents tear us apart, severing the bonds we tied to one another. We would float on, keeping our heads above that red. That was the promise we made. And I let her sink far, far below. So deep that maybe there’s no coming back up.

Looking at Chief, who refuses to meet my eyes, I think that’s probably right. I think those black jaws shut around her, and there’s no prying them back open. And I wonder if I could possibly have a different fate. I’m still floating along, and maybe there is no beach, maybe there is no respite. Maybe it’s all a mirage, a figment of a desire to find somewhere that isn’t bloody. But I see the truth behind that lie now, and I know better. I know that everything is blood, and so there was never any getting out. Not for her, and not for me. Whether together or apart… we’re alike, in that regard.

Chief taps her feet, then looks up. “The media will want to talk to you. They’ve been waiting outside the building, right at the bottom of the steps, for the past couple weeks. Now-”

“Chief.”

“No, I understand. And I’d actually prefer if you don’t speak to them. Try to keep as low a profile as possible. Oh, they’ll harass you for a while. Your time with Asami - however brief - gave you some pinch of tabloid fame. So they’ll pry at details about you, about her, about you and her. They’ll-”

“Chief.”

“What?”

“Where is she?”

Chief turns her head away again. “I told you already.”

“You said she’s gone.”

“And she is.”

“But you didn’t say where to. Gone… that can mean a lot of things. And Chief, dammit, I’m not really in the mood for puzzles. I don’t want to fit the pieces together myself. Not after what you’ve already laid out on the table for me. You want to fuck me? You want to make me a weapon? Fine. That’s fine. But I want you to tell it to me straight. Tell me where Asami is. She could be off in Zaofu again, for all I know. She could be-”

Chief raises an eyebrow. “Do you really believe that?”

“I…” I see that emptiness again, and Asami dissolving into it. I picture her in Zaofu, with blue eyes again. Getting that new life, even if it is a bit like an old one. I want to believe, and I can taste that desire. But I know better. I know what belief gets you, in this city, and so that desire is coating my tongue like bitter, burnt tea. I shake my head. “No.”

Chief sighs, and clenches her jaw. “We buried her last week.”

Chief keeps talking, but I don’t hear any of it. Just sounds without meaning, cascading past, lost in the currents. Lost, like Asami. And lost, like me. I look down into those red waters, and then the black depths beyond. I shake my head and don’t so much as draw a breath before I dive.

\-----

I wake up, while being prodded by a couple nurses. Or maybe they’re doctors. I don’t know, because I’m not really listening to anything they say. I just let them bend my arms and legs this way and that, and then pull me up out of bed. They support my weight at first, and then gradually leave the task to my legs. They are, I’m a little surprised to note, up to the task. There’s tingling, like the faint shock of touching exposed wire, and then the gradual sense of balance being restored.

It’s a strange thing, learning how to walk. Most everyone does it, and they come by the skill easy enough. But it happens early. So early that we don’t remember. It becomes a thoughtless exercise, just one foot in front of the other, without any real direction needed. The body knows, and it works, and that’s that.

This… this is something different. Conscious thought, devoted to every step. Left foot. Right foot. Flex from the ankle, extend the foot, then press with the larger muscles, higher up. Everything fires in order, like a machine, and I wonder if Asami appreciates the beauty in that. Or if she did.

I’m wiping tears away now, and I guess that means my arms are well and truly working. The nurses take the opportunity to flex my arms and test my shoulder mobility, and that seems to check out just fine. I think they say something about my body’s recovery, and how fast it’s happening, but I’m not sure.

One holds up a glass of water, and their mouth moves. They want to see if my bending has returned, and I think maybe, maybe after a night of, real, regular sleep, I’ll be able to call that water again. And so I reach out to it, and the surface shakes. I see my reach extend, and feel that comfortable, familiar moisture in my mind. I direct the flow, and a couple rivulets of water jump out of the glass. The hang for a moment, before I lose interest, and they fall to the floor like rain, or tears, or like those drops I used on Asami’s guards when we first met.

But she wasn’t Asami then. Not really. At least, she wasn’t the Asami I would find beneath that scar tissue. I found a beating heart, underneath everything, a person who could still feel, who could still hurt, and who could still care. She could care, and she cared for me. Even faced with my betrayal, she lowered her gun. And even faced with her father’s knowledge of this, she tried to send me away, to save me. But I wouldn’t go. I couldn’t. I had to come back for her, because she trusted me, and I wasn’t ready to betray that trust any more severely than I already had.

But I failed. I failed her, and now she’s dead.

“I’m sorry, Asami,” I whisper. “Hopefully it’s better, where you ended up. Hopefully you don’t remember any of this.”

\-----

The light bulbs flash like exploding stars in the sky, and even when I squint, it’s all so bright. They’re shouting questions about me, about Asami, about me and Asami. Just like Chief said they would. Sons of bitches looking to make a copper on my story, on my tragedy, but I guess that’s right enough. Everyone uses everyone else, and I’m not exempt from that transaction.

They ask me what she was like, and I say nothing. They ask what the mansion was like, and I say nothing. One voice simply insists that I talk about the whole experience, but I just keep on stepping, continue pushing through. There’s a car on the other side of this wall of humanity, if I can just take a few more steps.

Kuvira. The name reaches out and grabs me, and turn my attention towards the source.

“...free?” asks a man.

I lunge and grab the lapels of his coat. The lights flash brighter, and I feel the burn on my skin, but it’s nothing like the heat in my chest.

“What did you say?” I bite off each word.

His eyes bulge, first with fear, and then exhilaration. There are police officers swarming around us now, but I hold up my palms, and assure them that this is fine.

The man straightens his coat. “What do you have to say about Kuvira going free?”

I see her swimming in a different kind of expanse, one without the chains I feel, but no one can see.

“Free?” I ask.

He nods. “You didn’t know?”

I lick my lips, and notice the hush that’s fallen over the crowd. “I assumed she was dead.”

The man shakes his head. “Nope. Heart attack. And she lost an eye. And I mean lost it, lost it. As in, never coming back. Wild stuff, really. But no. She’s not dead.”

“Free?” I whisper, echoing the man’s words.

He scribbles frantically on a notepad, then looks up. “Well, not free exactly. But she’s been extradited, and sent back to Ba Sing Se. With Suyin Beifong offering up testimony against her - to keep herself clean, you understand - Kuvira’s been convicted of a hundred things, and conscripted into the Earth Queen’s military. You honestly didn’t know this?”

I narrow my eyes, and he holds up his hands. “Sorry, sorry. Just, you know, it’s big news.”

“I’ve been… out. And why?”

“Why? Well, the Queen does what she wants. No reason to issue an official statement, and so she hasn’t. But it’s not too hard to figure. Kuvira’s been assigned to the unit that suffers the most fatalities in all the Earth Army, the one that’s tasked with patrolling the most dangerous, bandit-ridden parts of the Kingdom. She-”

“She’s a tool.”

“Excuse me?”

I smirk, and I could almost laugh. I picture Kuvira floating in that expanse, and now I see her chains too. I see that they were always there, and always will be. She can’t bend these. None of us can. “She’s a tool. And what do you do with a tool?”

The man tilts his head. “Well, I guess it depends. What kind of-”

“You use them. For whatever they’re good for. Kuvira… she’s a killer. And so that’s what the Queen is using her to do. Granted, she could execute her. But why? Let the bandits do it, and maybe she takes some of them with her.” I remember her eyes, and the violence burning in them. I imagine those fires will engulf quite a few.

The man raises an eyebrow, his pen levitating over his notebook. “So this doesn’t strike you as… unfair? I mean, she killed-”

“I know what she did.”

“Then…”

“Fair’s got no say in anything. Never does.”

The man scribbles something more, and his mouth makes the shape of ‘Asami’. But I’m not listening. All the sound that comes crashing down around me does so as a wave, all of it one whole, and the parts are indistinguishable. I won’t talk about her. Not to them. I won’t give them a word, and I won’t give them a single tear. Let them invent fictions, and they won’t equal to half the truth.

\-----

The car is a rickety piece of shit, and I think that’d seem the case whether I’d gotten used to a Satomobile prototype or not. I hear the engine whining and protesting at every acceleration, and I find myself wondering at the potential causes, and then, how quickly Asami could diagnose them. I smile. She’d know already. Just like water and I… we have an understanding. I think she’s like that with machines, and maybe engines most of all. Other people just hear noise, and she hears a symphony. It’s a language in which she’s fluent, and one she’s endlessly capable of translating into action. She’s-

She was. Because the only thing she is, is gone. Gone, like Chief said. And dead. Dead, like Chief tried not to say. Maybe that truth even wounded her, or maybe she just doesn’t want to share anything at all with me. The less I know, the easier I am to manipulate. Just a tool to be directed. A hammer to strike a nail. You don’t want that hammer to think too much, to worry about its surroundings, its context, or worst of all, the nail itself. And so I’m in the dark. That’s where she’s dragging me, and where she’d like me to stay, I’m sure.

Looking around, even though the sun is out and shining, I’m not sure there is a way out. Maybe this darkness is like the one that took Asami, and once you’re in, that’s it. Maybe it’s like this whole damn city that way. Out is a fantasy, a mirage of a shoreline when you’re drifting along in that blood. You can kick, or flow, or swim, and it doesn’t matter. Because the currents lead where they lead, and there’s no fighting that. Even those who know them… and those like me, who can control them a little… there’s no fighting that. When the whole weight of tragic inevitability leans against you, you break. And that’s all there is to it.

The driver’s pulling up to an apartment building, which maybe, in a matter of weeks, I’ll start to think of as my apartment building. It’s no Sato Estate, but then nothing is. Just lifeless walls, reaching up into the sky, but not so high as to display any real aspirations. This whole neighborhood is like that, I think. It looks like a place that’s given up. Walls are in various states of disrepair, and litter fills the streets. It smells like rotten food, stale piss, and burned rubber. All of this mixes together, and feels like something that’s left over after desperation begins to rot, fermenting into the kind of destitution you just accept.

Maybe I’ll feel at home quicker than I thought.

I get out and grab two suitcases. The driver grabs the other two, and we walk through the door, and up some steps that protest every footfall a little too loudly for comfort. Apparently Chief’s packed up a few things from the Sato Estate, and from my own collection, but I don’t know what. And maybe there are additional things besides. It’s hard to say, because I only have a vague idea what I’ll be doing for her. Bloody work, on call. That much I know. Starting with the lowest scum, probably. I’ll give her that much credit. But what happens when it works? What happens when I’m good at it? Because… sick as it makes me to think it… I imagine I will be. If I do it. And maybe… when. Because what choice do I have? If I don’t, then I go to jail. At best. Maybe I’m just executed. And it’s not like I could hide for long. Asami only managed six months, and that was while she was so deep in a disguise, she didn’t even know it was a disguise. No, the world’s shrinking, and in any case, it’s bloody any which way you look. So what happens if I do the work, and it’s effective? Does Chief work her way up, then? Both in terms of influence, and morality. What if there’s a mayoral candidate she doesn’t like? Maybe she calls me up. And maybe that’ll be sooner than later. Raiko’s probably not getting re-elected, and now that Saikhan’s dead… I wonder, but I really don’t have even an educated guess.

But there will be plenty of time for wondering about all that later. Doesn’t look like there’s much to do in the neighborhood, and looking at the apartment itself, doesn’t look like there’s much to do here. Besides clean, I suppose. It could use about a weekend’s worth of that. And so maybe that’s what I’ll do. It’s not like I’ve got much else to work on, at the moment. I don’t have an assignment for my real job, and I don’t have a fake job as cover. Maybe that’s coming, but it’s not here yet.

I set the cases down, and nod for the driver to do the same.

“Here?” she asks, pointing to a spot on the floor that looks as bad as any other. She speaks with a strong Fire Nation accent. It’s not one I’m used to hearing, back South, but it’s distinct enough to be immediately recognizable, and understood.

I nod. “Anywhere works.”

The girl sets the cases down, and it occurs to me that I should probably be careful. With her, and with anyone. If she’s Fire Nation, then maybe she’s Agni Kai… and the girl does look to be pure Fire Nation. Hair cropped short, curled up near her shoulders, black as coal and slick as oil. Behind some thick-rimmed glasses there are eyes that look like flame itself, almost golden in their hue.

I find my hand settling on my right hip, reaching for a gun that isn’t there. Maybe there’s one packed away, or more likely, Chief’s going to have someone drop off whatever weapons she wants me to have. Of course, the most valuable weapon I have isn’t one that’s visible to most. It’s those red currents, binding and twisting and tearing. I let my eyes sink below the waves, and let my hands relax. I don’t figure there will be any cause, and I don’t really expect I could bloodbend right now, even if I had to… but I might have to try, and I’d hate not to be ready.

I reach out, and I notice that the girl’s heart is beating fast, and then faster still. It’s racing, and I can almost feel the heat coming off her forehead as she turns towards me, hand raised-

Pointing a finger at me, as if it were a gun.

She smirks, and nods at my hands, which remain at my side. “You didn’t draw this time.” The accent has melted away now, and her voice finds its way down familiar paths, and into familiar places in my heart and mind. It opens locked doors, and invades rooms I had thought to be forever empty. The breath goes out of me, but I manage a single word.

“Asami.”

She smiles, and nods once. “But you can call me Rin now,” she says, coating the words in that accent again. “I’m a new immigrant, fresh from the Fire Nation, here to-”

The air goes out of her now, knocked out by the force of me colliding with her, and then my arms squeezing around her shoulders. She embraces me as well, and we hold one another, clinging to that moment, grasping desperately at the thing which had been lost.

“Chief told me you were dead,” I whisper, filtering the words through those shattered memories.

“In a manner of speaking… she’s not wrong.”

“Still, the bitch didn’t have to lie to me.”

“She didn’t have to. But I know she wanted you to think I was dead, when you spoke to the media. Said it’d make for a more convincing portrayal of emotion, or something like that. But even now I… I’m not supposed to be here. She said if we were seen together, people might catch on, and might see through my disguise.”

“So… you too?”

She nods.

I shake my head. “Just another tool. They faked your death, so she could use you. And if you don’t do what she says, then what?”

Asami pulls her head back, and meets my eyes. She smiles, but her lips tremble.

“Me?”

“You,” she says. “You’re my leverage. If I don’t cooperate, Chief outs you. The bloodbending, the murder-”

“Which I didn’t commit.”

“Does it matter?”

I don’t say no, because, between us, such things don’t need to be confirmed. I lick my lips. “So that means… if I don’t do what she says, then she outs you, right? Asami Fucking Sato lives. Can you imagine? It’d be…”

“I know. And I’d go to prison for a long, long time. Well, maybe it wouldn’t be that long, actually. There are an awful lot of people in there, many of whom have an awful lot of reasons not to like me.”

“We could-”

“Run? No. She didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

Asami sighs. “I’m guessing she assumed this conversation would happen. Or maybe she was just planning on telling you herself later. Regardless, she has… well, you know that bullshit about the bribes, and how you ended up here in the first place?”

I feel a gorge rising in my stomach, some old sickness that I’d thought was past. “Yes. Of course.”

“Well, if either of us leave Republic City-”

“She’ll make those bribes look real. More so than she may already be doing. And then, she’ll make it look like my father knew about it all along. That he knowingly covered it up. And even if that doesn’t stick, there’s the rumors about me. Having a bloodbending murderer for a daughter… they’d be run out of town. Maybe worse.” I shake my head. “Just… fuck. Fuck her. Fuck all of this.”

Asami presses her forehead to mine. “No one ever said there was a way out.”

I swallow, and close my eyes, picturing those red currents swirling around us. “It’s like a maelstrom. Like the old sailors used to talk about. Just swirling, and swirling, and swirling, and maybe you eventually start to mistake movement for progress. But that’s not so. It’s just sucking you down, deeper and deeper, and there’s no escaping it.”

“So that’s us, isn’t it? We made one revolution of that vortex, and we’re right back where we started, more or less. We’re tools again. Weapons, fated to do nothing but draw blood, then drown in it. And maybe… maybe you could even say it’s worse. Because that’s how it goes, right? You make one revolution, only now you’re that much closer. One spin closer to the end.”

I nod. “I thought we were floating. That if we could just hang on to one another, maybe we could keep our heads up, and maybe, just maybe, we could wash up somewhere clean, somewhere safe, somewhere…”

“Else?”

“Anywhere else.”

Asami purses her lips, glances away, then tightens her arms around me. “We can still hang on, though. And even if we go down...”

“We go down together.”

Next door, there’s the sound of static, then a trumpet’s desperate cry, as it’s pulled up out of a wax tomb. It’s strung out, contorting into a lonely howl, and the footsteps of that beast dance across piano keys. _Almost Blue_. I feel Asami tense in my arms, go rigid, and then, as suddenly, relax.

“It doesn’t bother you?” I ask.

“No,” she says. “Not anymore. Why worry about the past, when the future is bloodier still?”

I’m silent, picturing those red currents pulling us down, down, forever down. And the music plays on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. And this is the end, the only one I really wanted, from the very start. This story is all about cyclical violence, about the Sisyphus myth, the Buddhist concept of Avici, etc. There's no escape. No getting out. It just goes on and on, circling back on itself, and it only really gets worse. So a clean ending - whether that be via death or some other kind of escape - never felt thematically or tonally appropriate, to me. Anything too conclusive felt like tying everything together into a too-neat bow, and it just struck me as contrived. I wanted some loose strings, some ambiguity, and maybe just a pinch of solace. And so here we are, 160,000 words later, more or less back where we started. And I love it. 
> 
> I hope you do too, because honestly, I really do love you all, for reading this. The entire experience of writing this has been incredible. One of the coolest things I've ever been a part of. And that phrasing... it's intentional. Because the comments, feedback, fan art(!), fan fiction(!), kudos, hits, etc., I've received for this... man, it's overwhelming. It's really made me feel a part of a community, and there's nothing better than that. So thank you. Honestly. For giving this fic a chance, and then sticking around for this long, meandering ride.
> 
> That having been said, there are three people (no order) here on AO3 I want to thank specifically: 1) Jenawynn, for being an incredible accidental publicist on tumblr, and amazingly positive about this fic. The encouragement was always awesome, and often needed. 2) Progman, for convincing me to put bending in this story (seriously, imagine it without), and always challenging my ideas of what this fic could be. 3) PirateQueen_Archer, for pointing out that Kuvira and Asami seemed like they knew one another, way back when they first met, and really, acting as a sort of post-hoc beta for this entire fic.
> 
> As for what's next... not a sequel. A Kuvira POV prequel is not out of the question, but that would be a ways down the road. In the mean time you could shoot me some ideas on tumblr, if there's something you'd like me to tackle. Thanks again.  
> http://beech27.tumblr.com/


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